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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



ECHOES OF BATTLE 



BusHROD Washington james 

Member of tlie Sons of the Revu/iUion, Pt'i/itsv/t'ci/nn : Histoi ical Society o/ Pewi- 
sylvauia ; Aiiiei icaii Academy o/ Po/it tea/ and Social Science ; Ameri- 
can Association for the Advancement of Science ; American 
Public Health Association ; Academy of the Natural 
Scioices, Philadelphia ; The Franklin Insti- 
tute : /historical and Ethnological 
Society, Sitka, Alaska, 
Klc. 



PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY T. COATES & CO. 

1S9S 







Copyrighted, 1895, 
By Bushrod Washington James. 



All Rights Rkserved. 



Copyrighted in Great Britain, 1895, 
By Bushrod Washington James. 



CONTENTS. 



POEMS. 

PAGE 

Antietara — After the Battle 6 

Gettysburg — After the Battle 1 1 

Missing 15 

March ! March ! March ! 1861-1864 22 

The Sunset Gun 25 

The Battle of the Brandywine 29 

Valley Forge 33 

Life's Battles 38 

The Yacht Race 41 

The Noche Triste Tree, Mexico 44 

The Hero of Johnstown 48 

Philadelphia — Then and Now 55 

On the Battle-Field — Antietam 59 

A Broken Bayonet 62 



PROSE DESCRIPTIVE CHAPTERS. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Battle-Field of Antietam— After the Battle 65 

II. The Battle-Field of Gettysburg— After the Battle 98 

III. A Bird's-Eye View of the Causes and Progress of the Revolu- 

tion 125 

IV. Miscellaneous Notes — Battle of the Brandywine 155 

Life's Battles 165 

Noche Triste Tree 166 

Missing 167 

Valley Forge 169 

The Sunset Gun 171 

Johnstown, Pa 172 

Philadelphia, Then and Now 176 

Fort Duquesne — Fort Pitt — Pittsburg 178 

V. Revolutionary Battle-Grounds 184 

Illustrations accompany each poem and chapter. 



PREFACE TO ''ECHOES OF BATTLE." 



Encouraged by the pleasant reception of "Alas- 
kana," the author has selected from a considerable 
number of poems, these few which are of a martial 
character, originally intended to be published sepa- 
rately from time to time in the monthly magazines, 
the writing of which has extended over many 
years. He hopes that their perusal may prove 
interestino- and some of them call to mind the un- 
selfish patriotism of those brave men who were 
ready and willing to sacrifice much, even life 
itself, for the cause of Liberty and Union. As I 
ride over the Revolutionary fields of strueele and 
contemplate the sufferings and hardships of those 
noble men, I think the heroes of that day should 
never be forgotten, and the roads over which 
they marched and the fields on which they fought, 
victorious or not, should be revered in memory. 
No pen could ever produce pictures as vivid as 

4 



those which come back to me when I also recall 
the battle-fields of the Great Rebellion at Antietam 
and Gettysburg, when subsequent to the fighting- 
several other surgeons and myself who had been 
furnished with the credentials of the Christian 
Commission, under which we volunteered, and 
others from the Sanitary Commission, hurried to 
the relief of the wounded and dying. 

I believe that the more fully we realize at what 
fearful cost the independence of the United 
States, and the preservation of the whole Union 
were attained, the more surely the American peo- 
ple will always protect the country from a recur- 
rence of distrust and rebellion. And I sincerely 
hope that no battle-cry shall ever again resound 
within our Union, and that no misunderstandine 
shall ever arise which a peaceful interchange of 
opinions may not rectify. 

Trusting that a generous public will excuse the 
faults of this little book, and appreciate its merits, 
if there be any, I send it forth with the kindest 
respects of the 

Author. 

5 



ANTIETAM— AFTER THE BATTLE. 



The biiele sounded its welcome call, 
The echoes answered, and one and all 
Of the noble soldiers quickened 
To give response to the first command, 
To gird themselves and to firmly stand, 
Where the din of the battle thickened ! 

Their eyes were bright and their spirits true, 
Their banners waved as the light winds blew, — 
But the sky was already clouded 
With smoke from the musket and cannon's mouth, 
In the bitter strife, where the North and South 
Their sisterly Union shrouded 



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In a pall so black that it seemed the night 
Must ever triumph and dim the light 
Of peace, and its joys attending ; 
For brothers challenged and brothers fell 
Before the thunder of shot and shell 
And the crashino- of swords contendinor ! 

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They met, they fought, and they closer drew 
As the glist'ning bay' nets became so few 
And their faces with blood were streaming ; 
'Til, but for their coats, they could scarcely know 
Which one w^as brother and which was foe — 
And the shells in the air were screaming, 



As if to startle the ones who lay 

With their faces turned from the smoke-dimmed 

day 
And wake them agfain to battle ; 
But they answered not, and some others dropped 
Across the breasts where the hearts had stopped. 
Nor stirred at the fearful rattle ! 

Both sides in numbers were ""rowincf small, 
At each fierce cadence were seen to fall 
Brave men with their weapons pointed ! 
They fell like trees at the woodman's stroke ! 
They died, and there, as the war-clouds broke, 
With blood they were found anointed ! 







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One army weakened and turned away — 
The other followed — but there they lay, 
The best of the Nation's number ! 
Some cried with pain, and some groaned and 

turned 
While yet their spirits with ardor burned ; 
But thousands were still in slumber ! 

In slumber deep, which no waking knew, 
And the guns they held were silent too. 
But well they had done their duty ! 
They had marred those faces and torn those 

limbs — 
No wonder the glow of the sunlight dims, 
And the day is bereft of beauty ! 



The smell of the powder and blood arose 
Widi the minofled siehinof of friends and foes 
Who lay in the heaps of the dying ; — 
But ah, to think they were brothers all 
Beneath one flag, till rebellion's call 
Broke forth with its bold defying. 

And brothers still, with the end of strife 

They yield together the gift of life ; 

While the banner, now floating o'er them, 

Is the thirteen stripes and the field of blue 

And the golden stars, that grew smoke-dim too 

As it beckoned and waved before them ! 



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GETTYSBURG— AFTER THE BATTLE. 



Brave men lay low at Gettysburg, 

The grass alone their pillow ; 
The sunlit sky their canopy, 

Their shade the oak and willow. 
No comfort but the trampled sod ! 

No voice to charm their anguish : 
They suffered on, they drooped and groaned 

We daily saw them languish ! 

Unaided ? There were thousands there ! 

In scores, we toiled to aid them ! 
A handful we, against the hosts 

Who thus had marred and laid them. 
Blood-wet before the altar stairs 

Of Freedom, — and Secession ! 
All one in pain and gaping wounds, 

All one in war's possession ! 



Thoueh time had hushed the frightful roar 

Of cannon shot and rifle, 
These cries, these prayers, these dying moans 

And screams it could not stifle ! 
The voice of God alone could still 

That sureine sea of trouble ! 
But we, could only haste to help 

And each exertion double ! 

Oh war ! Thy meat is sacriflce ! 

Thy drink, the blood, warm streaming. 
From maimed and tortured human frames, 

From men of conquest dreaming ! 
They rose to follow at thy call 

Each for the victory vying — 
They lie all broken 'neath thy car 

In anguish bleeding, dying ! 



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Thy power is blacker than the night ! 

Thy voice is fiendish thunder ! 
Thy lips are reeking with the stains 

Of blood, thy proudest plunder ! 
The glare within thine angry eyes 

Bids aneels flee before them, 
But in thy track the lines of pain 

With swift impulse restore them ! 

They bend above thy victims there — 

Love, Mercy, Hope, and Science — 
And Grief looks on, and breathless Fear 

Stands awed by their alliance ! 
Their strength is not so great as thine 

Thou, Death's unsated minion ! 
The Power of Darkness holds thee slave 

Of all his dark dominion ! 



13 



Men fall — but not to worship thee — 

Thou soul of desolation ! 
They give themselves a sacrifice 

For love of home and nation ! 
A Dove can sweep the reddened plumes 

From off thy scowling forehead, 
An Olive Branch can break the sword 

Thy reeking hands have borrowed ! 

Peace reigning, thou art chained in thrall 

Oh, may no spirit ever 
Arise to ope thy dungeon gate 

Nor e'er thy shackles sever ! 
Thy voice, now hushed, may never stir 

The hearts of those now sleeping. 
Who crave their lives to save the flasf 

Entrusted to their keeping. 



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" There were echoes of cannon rattle, 
And news of the fearful strife." 



MISSING. 



The papers were scanned each morning 
With eagerly anxious eyes. 

For the war-cloud had frowned its warning- 
Had broken and dimmed the skies : 

There were echoes of cannon rattle, 
And news of the fearful strife, 

Where the gain or the loss of battle 
Was freighted with loss of life. 

A victory won ? Cheer madly ! 

But eaze not the stained field o'er, 
For Freedom's fair robes are sadly 

Begrimed with the smoke and gore ! 
There are faces in calmest slumber 

That never a sound shall wake — 

There are wounded and maimed whose number 

Will many a roll-call break ! 

15 



There is shrieking, and sad, low moaning- ; 

There is agony all suppressed ; 
There are pitiful cries and groaning, 

And sighs from the sore distressed ! 
The banners are torn and spattered 

With powder and trampled mud : 
And Oh ! there are garments tattered 

And reeking with precious blood ! 

But the battle was won, and flying 

The news of the war was sent ; 
While over the dead and dying 

The pitiful moonlight bent. 
And over each lonof, slim column, 

"The Wounded," "The Missing," "The Dead," 
Bent eyes with expression solemn — 

O'er-dimmed with the tears they shed. 



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Dead ! Swiftly the sad news greeting 

The heart that has hoped in vain 
Makes the hps, the one word repeating, 

Grow white in the grasp of pain. 
" Dead ! " Ah ! his life was oriven 

To honor his country's fame ! 
But sadly the hearts are riven 

Who weep o'er each martyr's name. 

"Wounded," a strong limb shivered 

To shreds by a cannon ball ! 
Hands gone that in pride delivered 

Their all to the Nation's call ! 
And cripples to tell the story 

Of all that the day had done — 
Of the fight and the field of glory 

Blood-red in the settino- sun, 



17 



Our dead we will bury sadly, 

Above him the flag shall wave, 
Whose honor had won him gladly 

To rest in the soldier's crrave ! 
We speak of him ever proudly, 

Thouofh never a word of fame 
May have shouted his praises loudly, 

Nor hallowed the soldier's name. 

Our wounded we ever cherish. 

They were ready to fight and die ! 
To some it were less to perish 

Than broken and bruised to lie. 
And hear of the army spoken, 

Of the fights that were won or lost- 
But they know not how fair a token 

They are of Rebellion's cost. 



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But tell us, where are the " Missing" ? 

In prison to pine away ? 
Or, when the fierce balls came hissing, 

Were they scattered so far away 
That their comrades could never know them 

Bv the fi'aements about the field. 
Did only their absence show them 

They too had been forced to yield ? 

Are they lying within some valley, 

In reach of the tramping feet, 
That gladly in triumph rally 

Or stumble in swift retreat ? 
Are they raving for cooling water, 

And lifting their burning eyes. 
Away from that field of slaughter, 

Far up to the starlit skies ? 



19 



Oh, tenderly blow above them, 

Sweet winds of the o-entle nio-ht, 
And whisper of those who love them, 

And soothe them till morning light 
Shall bring them relief and shelter. 

And ease from their racking pains — 
But Oh, must they writhe and welter 

And die on those blood-wet plains ? 

Are they resting beneath the river, 

Forced down by the rushing foe, 
With never an eyelid quiver 

To show that they feared to go ? 
Some day will we see them coming 

Maimed, pallid, and almost dead ? 
Ah, hope in the heart is humming. 

It licrhtens the achine head ! 




" March ! March ! ! March to the drum's loud roar." 
RALLY OF U. S. TROOPS AT WASHINGTON, D. C. 



Oh, tell us where we may find them, 

Our brave ones who went away ! — 
Whether chains of the foeman bind them 

Or Death holds them in his sway ! 
We hope, and despair, and ponder, 

And search where the battle led, — 
Heart-weary our spirits wander ! 

Ah, " Missing" is worse than " Dead " 




" Ah, ' Missing ' is worse than ' Dead ' ! " 

21 



MARCH ! MARCH ! ! MARCH ! ! ! 

1861-1864. 



March ! March i March to the drum's loud roar, 

March ! March ! On to the foe ! 

Charge ! Charge ! Charge on the ranks before, 

Charge ! Charge ! Spare not the blow. 

Fire ! Fire ! Now let the cartridge fly, 

Fire ! Fire ! Whizzing they go — 

Strike ! Strike ! Strike for your country, boys ! 

Strike ! Strike ! Spare not the blow ! 




' Ours the victory now ! ! " 




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See ! See ! See how their column breaks ! 

See ! See ! Rallying now — 

List ! List ! Hear, your commander speaks. 

Look, men, on his brave brow ! 

On ! On ! On ! Now to victory ! 

On ! On ! Eagerly go ! 

Strike ! Strike ! Strike for your country, boys 

March ! March ! Spare not the blow ! 



Hark ! Hark ! Hear now that frantic call, 

Hear ! Hear that sounding- cry — 

Oh, see ! See their proud chieftain fall ! — 

Look ! Look ! Now they all fly ! ! 

Cheer ! Cheer ! Three cheers for Liberty ! 

Wave the flag in the sky — 

Shout ! Shout ! Shout for the Stars and Stripes ! 

Ours the victory now ! ! 



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THE SUNSET GUN. 



The sun has run his course, the dayHght seems 

To gather all Its glory for this hour, 
When, with his task performed, his golden beams 

Bid fair good-night in many a tinted shower. 
The last rays borrow from the banks of cloud 

Their vapor prisms, and set their jewels there, 
And earth lifts up her forehead, brave and proud 

To wear a little w^iile a crown so rare. 

The sea looks up, its surface polished bright. 
And painted in the rarest, purest hues 

Of sky and cloud, of shade and dazzling light. 
And living pictures of its shore-line views. 

Its waves less restless move, its moaninof tone 
Is almost silent as the day draws near 

To evening with its shadows, which alone 

Can make the nitrht-wind's sone so sad to hear. 

25 



Slowly and radiantly the sun sinks down, 

While yellow shafts shoot up and pierce the blue 
And bid a bright farewell, before the crown 

Of nicrht is lifted, bright with stars and dew. 
The distant cities' hum is almost hushed. 

Their steeples glow with brilliant sunset light, 
And where the busiest throngs have wildly rushed 

First reiorns the silence of oncoming nio-ht. 

Like spectres, far away the vessel spars 

Afloat on o-ilded billows seem to lie. 
And folded sails cling close as rosy bars 

Reach out to greet them from the painted sky. 
Now lower still the glorious, burnished disk 

Sinks till we see but one slim, dazzline rim, — 
And breezes wake along the shore and frisk 

With glittering wavelets on its sandy brim, — 



26 




" Who fought to follow where he led." 



When through the waves of air a sound rings out, 

Loud as a thunder-bolt ! and echoes tell, 
Like faithful heralds, of the cannon shout 

That speaks to waiting cities, "All is well ! 
The sun has set ! the land in peace assumes 

Its dusky garment from the hands of Night — 
No bold intruder waits — no clanger looms 

To spread disaster ere the morning light!"* 

The island trembles with the mighty strain 

As, boom ! the evening cannon rends the air, 
And sends to mainland shore its bold refrain. 

Whose hoarse reverberations wander, where 
Three cities listen to the sunset gun 

Announcing that the orb of day has sped 
To other lands, who wait the rising sun 

His o-ororeous lio^ht and orateful heat to shed. 

o o o o 

* See descriptive notes. 

27 



Hush ! now the last bright rays have passed 
below 

The far horizon, where the mellow lines 
Serenely linger with an afterglow 

Like holy fires in sacred temple shrines ! 
The echoes die, all weary with their flight, — 

The frowning fort looks out across the bay, 
A faithful guardian, while the dew-drenched night 

Holds In Its brooding heart the gems of day. 

One hemisphere takes on its starry robe, 
The other shimmers in the welcome heat ; 

While far above, the radiant golden globe, 

With endless patience, turns each day com- 
plete ; 

The light more glorious for the flitting shade. 
The day more perfect for the night of rest, 

And earth more lovely, as each charm is made 

By sunbeams traveling tow'rd the glorious west. 

28 



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THE BATTLE OF THE BRANDYWINE, 

SEPTEMBER ii, 1777. 



Wearied with hardship and defeat, 
Disheartened, forced to wise retreat ; 
With hope uphfted but to fall ; 
And conquests, with the price of all 
The thousands, who upheld the fight 
Till life itself was put to flight : — 
The patriot armies pressed their way. 
Footsore and bleeding, cold and gray 
With hunger, and with loss of rest. 
They still held Freedom closely press'd 
Against their hearts, and in its glow 
The life-blood warmed to richest flow ! 

Led on by Washington, the true, 

Who swerved not, whether tempest blew 

Or blazing sun o'er-looked the dead 

Who fought to follow where he led. 

He plunged through waters icy cold. 

He stole through woods whose monarchs old 

Protected once the Indian horde 

And lulled them on the velvet sward. 

But now hope almost seemed to fail, 

Howe's prowess made some spirits quail 

While boldly on he pressed to spoil 

The cradle, in which freemen's toil 

Had won for Liberty a throne 

From which to sound great Freedom's tone„ 



To save the city, day and night 
Brave leaders planned, and soldiers' might 
Grew firmer, that their will was strone 
To raise the right, and crush the wrong ! 
This remnant of a noble band 
Still swore to save the blood-stained land ! 
For this the Chief drew up the line 
Beside the rippling Brandywine, 
Whose sylvan shores in sweet repose 
Feared not advancinof friends or foes. 
They met, and muskets waked the birds, 
And frightened peaceful, grazing herds. 

They met, and glittering eyes grew dim ! 

They fought, but Freedom's line grew slim 

As patriot after patriot gave 

His life the glorious cause to save 1 

Still face to face the hot balls fiew ! 

The powder burned its fierce track through 

To many a noble heart that day 

Before defeat had claimed its sway ! 

And spirits triumphed when they knew 

The banner still in battle flew 

Where hottest ficrhtingf drew the flower 

Of brave colonial troops that hour. 




'And Freedom finds a peaceful shrine 
Beside the silver Brandywine." 



And yet they faced with gun and sword 

The troops, who feigned to cross Chadd's Ford, 

Unconscious of the force that drew 

By stealth, to strike the patriots, who, 

Stretched out along their northern wing, 

Awaited but the work to fling 

Their strongest charo-es on the line 

That sought their freedom to confine. 

First warned, then cruelly deceived. 

Our Chieftain's anxious heart was grieved 

To find brave Sullivan's firm band 

Forced back upon the blood-wet land. 



To find his slender force exposed — 
Against Howe's greater army closed — 
But brave and true, they fought the way ! 
And step by step, the hopeless fray 
Was marked by dead and wounded men, 
By broken trees and blood-stained glen ! 
With noblest courage on they pressed — 
Harassed, surrounded, foiled, distressed ! 
Outnumbered, crushed, and forced to yield, 
They left that fateful battle-field ; 
And felt the shouts of triumph chill 
Instead of Victory's joyous thrill. 

31 



Unswervinof still, the faintina- few 
Held out against the force, that drew 
So close, that each could feel the breath 
That on one side must quit in death ! 
And then came troops upon the rear 
Of those, who still, unconquered, cheer 
Their earnest Chieftain, whose calm word 
Was stronger than his glancing sword. 
He saw his bravest lying low. 
Where not the loudest trumpet blow 
Could call them to again unite 
To fight and die for Home and Right! 

La Fayette bowed his noble crest, 
Pulaski owned retreat was best. 
To save the few brave hearts that still 
Were staunch to do their Leader's will. 
Defeated, they withdrew that day ; 
Unconquered by the tyrant's sway, 
They saw their city one day filled 
By troops no patriot voice had thrilled ! 
Unconquered still, though every hope 
Seemed crashing on a downward slope, 
They rested, nursed their wounded braves, 
Consigned their dead to nameless graves ; 
And then they rose to braver deeds ! 
They won triumphant \ ictory's meeds ! 
And Freedom finds a peaceful shrine 
Beside the silver Brandvwine. 



VALLEY FORGE. 



And these are patriots ! These with bleeding 
feet, 

And hands all bruised and scarred by bitter toil ! 
These who are shivering in the wind and sleet — 

Who bend in sorrow o'er the frozen soil 
And hold their achingr hands above the blaze 

Of smouldering fagots, borne by aching backs 
Bent low beneath the load, that winter-days 

Mark in the snow with piteous, wavering 
tracks ! 

This remnant of the thousands, starved and sad, 

Sick, weary and heartbroken with defeat — 
Can ever martial music make them glad 

Or " march time " echo with their tramping 
feet? 
Less than half-clad they toil to build their camp, 

Depressed, yet listening with unbroken trust 
To orders, read while yet the ink is damp. 

From him whose heart is sore with sorrow's 
thrust. 

33 



From him, who, Chief of all, is proud to share* 

The bitter hardships he cannot allay ; 
Who makes their comfort first his anxious care 

And cheers them with his presence day by day. 
The wounded suffer, but they make no sign — 

The hunory show it, but with no complaint — 
But some fall on the way and life resign, 

While others linger on, though sorely faint 

Encamped at Valley Forge, some thousands yet 

From tens of thousands left, who faced the foe, 
Reduced to sore distress, do not forget 

The haughty tyrants who have brought them 
low. 
Beloved homes are trod by foemen's feet, 

Their noble city holds the victor troops. 
Who spoil the houses, tramp the dismal streets, 

While Freedom, wounded, o'er it fondly stoops. 

* See descriptive notes. 

34 



Here Steuben found them, and he gazed in awe 

Upon this army, these poor, homeless men, 
Gaunt with distress, — but still without a flaw 

Their couragfe bounded at the call ao^ain ! 
That buele call rancr lonof, and all aoflow. 

The bare feet answered, and brave hearts 
looked out 
Through faces crimsoned with the blood's swift 
flow 

That marked each hero as he faced about. 

Forgotten pain and hardship, all forgot 

The hungry day, and long, dark, cruel night ! 

The musket shouldered as if elided knot 

Decked every soldier braced to march and 

ficrht ! 

"Beloved Country!" "Liberty!" — The sword 
From every scabbard sprung with each com- 
mand ! 
And bullets flew as one, when Steuben's word 

Rang out to "Fire!" or when he bade them 
stand 

35 



No muscle moved, but every ear was tense 

To hear his broken accents, as he taught 
The way to compass foes, — how cahii defense 

Would sometimes win, as well as battle fouofht. 
And Washington looked on with proud content 

To see his trembling forces bravely raise 
The ensign, for whose safety life was spent ; 

For whose sweet cause they faced grim battle's 
maze ! 

A bitter school was Valley Forge that year ! 

When freezing fingers bound up wounds afresh, 
And quivering voices spoke such words of cheer 

As told of dauntless souls, though strength 
and fiesh 
Too quickly fied before the fiends of want, 

Who made that camp the forage ground of 
foes, 
More subtle far than belching cannon's chant 

Or noisy warfare's host of painful woes. 

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Pain-conquered, hunger-baffled, forth diey went. 

With hearts of purest gold, securely sealed 
Against the craft, which in fair messaofe sent 

A pardon to all men who chose to yield. 
To yield like vassals ! Not while lifted arm 

Can wield the sword or o-uide the flashinof o'un ! 
Not while the blood of patriots coursing warm 

Thrills through the heart of each brave Free- 
dom's son ! 

And so they marched to battle — nerved to die. 

Or else to hold each step with soldier might, 
Invincible, against the hosts whose cry 

Would force submission against lawful Right ! 
Nameless to fame — and yet forever more 

Will fame re-echo with the glorious meeds 
Of those brave few who boldly marched before 

And marked their way with bright, victorious 
deeds. 

37 



LIFE'S BATTLES. 



Life is a round of battles, bravely foug-ht, 

Or weakly lost for want of noble will 
To meet each foe before the standard brought 

With weapons tempered with unerring skill. 
Wrong, gilded o'er, is still more deeply wrong 

In that deceit is welded with its taint ; 
So strength to meet it must be bravely strong 

In eyes that (piail not, hearts too bold to faint ! 

Ease tempts the sluggard with its subtle breath. 
Then steals his nobler self and makes him prey 

To idle hours, so close allied to death, 

That objectless, his young years slip away 

As useless as the down which closely clings 
Around a seed, within whose empty shell 

No germ of life its tender offering brings, 

No sprout puts forth a gladsome life to tell. 

3S 




" Far better to have fallen, pierced with blades.' 



Not yet too late, he hopes to dream awhile, 

Then whet his blade, and clasp his armor bright; 
And then start out to fight the legions vile 

Who still were active while he courted night. 
Once they were legion ! Now a legion more 

Menace with deepening frowns and hissing lips ! 
The hosts of evil that he meets before, 

Give cry to foes among whose snares he slips ! 

Well is it if he rises firm and brave ; 

If rust has not unhinged his brio-ht cuirass ! 
His arm may gain the power his head to save. 

His wakened soul lead on through thrust and 
pass ; 
But if he falls, himself, the one to blame, 

Must bear the sad defeat, — But oh, the pain ! 
To feel the deep remorse, the quivering shame, 

The wish for youth that may not come again. 

39 



The wish for manhood — wasted In its prime : 

For strength — grown weakness by its long dis- 
use : 
The bitter longing for the precious time 

Now tombed in shadows of its sad abuse ! 
But longings all are vain, the soul's low cry 

Gives only deeper poignancy to pain ; 
However deep the sorrow — moments fly ! 

The tears, the deep remorse, are all in vain. 

Far better to have fallen, pierced with blades 

Which valiant, ardent blood has deeply dyed, 
Than thus to creep beneath desponding shades 

In hope that bloodless battle thus to hide. 
Far better to meet life with noble scars 

Than with weak hands to let the standard fall 
And fiends of evil triumph, as if wars. 

That gave them victory, gave to you the pall ! 

40 



THE YACHT RACE. 



The sunshine shimmers along the quay, 

And dips its rays in the water dancing- ; 
It tints the sand by the rolhng sea 

And shines Hke gold where the boats are 
prancing, 
Now into shore, and now outward turned, 

Like eager steeds for their freedom panting, 
As if their spirits with ardor burned 

To ride the waves, and the sunbeams slanting 
Are making a golden highway where 

The sea is smooth, and the wind blows fair ; 
And still the hawsers are drawino- ti^ht 

And holding their sails from a joyous flight ! 

"Heave O ! " They spring to the straining ropes, 

The sailors all at the first commanding ! 
The yacht sways out and its longing hopes 

Make its timbers creak, as a moment standing 
It seems to gather its latent force, 

Then dips its prow in the golden billow 
Before it bounds on its onward course 

With graceful curves, like a drooping willow. 
The sails mount up with a joyous spring ! 

The sailors pull as they gayly sing : 
" Heave O ! We are off for a jolly sail ! 

Ye-o-ho ! we can fly in the summer gale ! " 

41 



Another vessel has hove in siL,^ht ! 

A yacht as trhn as a bird, and skimming 
The restless waves with a bound as liorht 

And a keel as smooth as a sea-o-ull swimmine ! 
She sees us now, and with orraceful swine 

She sends her cliallenge across the waters, 
And with answering signal we bound and sing 

"Success to the fairest of Neptune's daughters!" 
That yacht is fair, but our jolly boat. 

Though others fail, shall in triumph float ! 
For her hull is trim and her prow is light, 

And her speed is sure as the swallow's flight ! 



Hurrah ! We will fly in the summer breeze ! 

Hurrah ! She bounds till our beams are level ! 
The sails swell out, and the surges seize 

And bear us on, while in laughing revel 
The waves spread out in our lengthening wakes, 

And tiny caps from the sea are ready 
To toss in glee for the one who takes 

And holds the race with a speed as steady 
As the winning horse on a beaten track : — 

But hold ! Are we warily holding back ? 
Or can it be we have met our fate 

In a boat that can sail at a faster rate ? 

42 




' Beneath a cypress down he sat and wept." 
THE NOCHE TRISTE TREE, MEXICO. 



Ho ! Tack a trifle, the wind has changed ! 

Quick ! Give her head, for the craft is gaining ! 
A half length now, and her speed is ranged 

To push our crew to its utmost training. 
We gain, hurrah ! see our snowy sails 

Are puffed with pride, and our keel is flinging 
The laugrhinof waves, whom a thousand rales 

Have failed to break of their constant singing ! 
Hurrah ! we gain, and our vessels now 

Are speeding even with prow to bow. 
With halyards straining, and creaking mast 

We leave our rival behind at last ! 



Hurrah ! we have won ! Like a joyous bird 

We skim along- with the wind behind us ! 
We near the shore and a shout is heard : 

Three cheers ! Defeat has not dared to bind us 
Hurrah ! for the yacht that has won the race ! 

Three cheers for the boat that so nobly tried us 
With right good wall, and with seamen's grace 

We bow to the yacht that so well defied us ! 
A shout of welcome rings from the shore, 

It echoes back as we swell it more 
With a glad hurrah for the gallant crew 

That led our vessel so bravely through ! 

43 



THE NOCHE TRISTE TREE, MEXICO. 



Beneath a cypress down he sat and wept, — * 

The haughty soldier, humbled to the dust, 
Who watched his army by the heathen swept 

Beyond the city, or by cruel thrust 
Hurled down to slowly ignominious death, 

With no deep wounds to tell of noble strife ; 
No notes of valor for their latest breath, 

Nor blood-bought triumphs in exchange for 
life! 

With banners flying, and with martial tread 

They came to conquer — but they staid to die — 
They followed bravely where ambition led, 

But fiercely vanquished, they were forced to fly ! 
Dark faces menaced, wdth their blazing eyes, 

No pity showing in their glittering light : 
And Spaniards, conquered, in their strange sur- 
prise 

Like chaff were scatteretl in that dismal niofht. 

* See descriptive notes. 

44 



The martial music had long died away, 

And curses mingled with the cries and groans 
Of noble soldiers, whom the light of day 

Will find all broken on the cruel stones, 
Or crushed with boulders that were fiercely cast 

By savage hands, among the fleeing horde. 
Each plunging, tramping, fearing to be last, 

And falling helpless on the reddened sward. 

Where hope rang gayly, was the moan of woe : 

And Aztecs, smitten, proved that Aztec hearts 
Could burn with ardor, and their fiery glow 

Give swift-winged messages from poisoned 
darts ! 
Tn heaps of agony were lying there 

Fierce Spanish soldiers, and the swarthy brave 
Whose wounds were nothing, but whose only care 

Their ancient city to protect — to save ! 

45 



Oh, sad this enduig to the bold attack 

With sounding- trumpets and with flags un- 
furled !— 
His knights of chivalry all driven back ! 

His failure noted by a watchful world ! 
Deep lines of sorrow seamed his troubled face, 

Dejection shadowed o'er his care-worn brow ; 
As night grew darker in the fated place 

More sad and lowly did his spirit bow. 

The winds moaned for him in the chilling night, 
The branches whispered o'er his drooping 
head ; — 

He could not stay the conquered armies' flight ! 
He could not wake those who were lying dead ! 

His soldiers, chosen from the flower of Spain, 
To flee in terror from a heathen horde ! 

The swarthy tribes of Montezuma's train 

To quell the potence of the Christian sword ! 

46 



^5" 

n n 




Low bowed he, blinded with the keenest grief. 

The night not darker than his helpless woe I 
Ambition, wounded, could not bring relief. 

Xor tears, however bitter, heal the blow. 
He followed as his soldiers led the way 
Across the mighty causeway, through the night : 
And still this aged cypress marks the day 

When Cortez and his armies took their flight. 

Through ages, that have seen his triumph swell, 

Through mountain passes, and where valleys 
part. 
In grand cathedral and in sounding bell, 

In costly palaces and gems of art — 
This living monument of woeful pain 

Has marked the sad defeat, that almost left 
His wounded spirit with the soldiers slain. 

His banners drooping and his heart bereft ! 



THE HERO OF JOHNSTOWN. 



At peace the lovely valley lay, 
The towns were draped In silvery grey, 
And swiftly fell the plenteous rain 
O'er fragrant wood and verdant plain. 
Beyond the towns a river swelled 
Against its banks, which closely held 
The waters, growing wildly gay 
And reckless, as they sang their way 
Close by the homes and near the mills 
Which nestled hy the sloping hills. 

Above the sounds of wind ana rain 
A cascade rang a loud refrain, 
In such weird, voiceful monotone. 
It seemed to mock the dismal moan 
Of winds among the solemn pines. 
Or echoino' blasts within the mines. 
Secure, the children laughed in play, 
Secure, each workman went his way, 
And women, on their plans Intent, 
Securely on their missions went. 

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Sometimes a voice had sagely told, 
The breast-works were too frail to hold 
The floods which swell in every spring, 
And rush, and bound, and wildly fling. 
As if they longed to spread and keep 
The waking earth in death-like sleep. 
But warnings, without fateful end. 
Too surely fail, except to lend 
Strong links to hold wise care at bay, 
And let destruction work its way. 

So calmly still the country lay — 

The rain had ceased, but far away 

Above the dam, a misty veil 

Made some men's sturdy hearts to quail ! 

The waters piled in gathering might ; — 

And first to fear the direful sight 

Were those who scoffed the warnino- crv 

Of dano-er in those earth-works hieh ! 

Too late, the arduous task besfan 

To brace that weak'ning, flood-swept span ! 

49 



With echoing roar the torrent spoke ! 
The crumbling earth death's message broke! 
And Hke an ocean's towering crest 
The mastering cohimn onward press'd ! 
On Hghtning wings the message sped 
From town to town, but still ahead 
That wall of waters onward strode 
And swept the fields along its road ! 
Trees broke like rattling straws and lay 
Where surges swept them from their way ! 

Bold men were told the dam would yield ; 

And quick as thought, his courage steeled 

One noble heart to reach the town 

Before the thundering flood came down — 

To warn the thousands in the path 

The waves would follow in their wrath ! 

Quick mounted then his trusty horse 

And urged him swiftly on his course — 

Loud shouting, with an eager will — 

"The flood! the flood! Quick, climb the hill!" 

5° 



Some deemed him mad, some smiled to see 
A youdi ride on so gallantly — 
But ah, too few believed his breath 
Was freighted with the news of death ! 
On ! on ! he sped, his voice rang out 
In one continuous, warning shout — 
"The flood is coming ! Climb the hill 
While life and strength are with you still ! 
The flood ! the flood ! believe the worst ! 
The lofty, treacherous dam has burst! " 

Through town and hamlet, toward the bridge, 

Along a road, or slippery ridge. 

His noble horse sped like the rain 

Wind-swept across a level plain ! 

He paused not as his rider broke 

The awful news, that sometimes woke 

An echoing cadence, like a wail, 

And sometimes made his hearers pale, 

As all confused, they turned to see 

Why all this furious haste should be. 

51 



And still the flood rushed on apace 
And sped the sad. unequal race ! 
Its voice took up his frantic speech 
And bore it far beyond the reach 
Of ears, now deafened with the roar 
Of waves, engulfing as they tore 
With giant grasp, the homes and mills 
Once snugly sheltered by the hills, — 
Thev hurled the buildings "round like chafl, 
And seemed in boisterous o-lee to lauorh ! 



& 



Xow babes were from their mothers torn, 

And dying parents swiftly borne 

Just where their trembling babes could see 

Them dashed and hurled too helplessly 

To even wave a long farewell — 

Or one last word of love to tell ! 

Homes turned to chaos ! Churches wrecked ! 

The flood's broad bosom closely flecked 

With shattered timbers, broken trees, 

With tumbling houses. — what are these ? 



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" Look on that valley now, and tell." 
THI-; BROKEN DAM. 



Oh, pitying angels ! Faces dead 
Among that wild debris are spread ! 
And quivering bodies plunge along 
In helpless rhythm to that fierce song 
The waters shout, as on they sweep 
And pile destruction high and deep ! 
Look on that valley now, and tell 
How fair it slept beneath the spell 
Which falsehood o'er it firmly held, 
And serious doubt serenely quelled! 

That noble courier urged his steed 
Who still responded, though his speed 
Already taxed each quivering nerve — 
Nor did the horse nor rider swerve 
Until the furious waves drew near 
And drowned the voice no longer clear. 
He turned to reach the friendly bank, 
But oh, that brave young martyr sank 
Beneath the weight of crashing oaks 
Felled by the fiood's relentless strokes ! 

53 



They fouiHl them, one the man \vhose soul 

\\\in by its ardent zeal, control 

To make that charger's bounding' heart 

Break, ere he failed to do his part ! 

They found them, pulseless, side by side — 

Hoth in their silence (Morified ! 

Both winning- by their deed a name 

More fair than victory's sounding fame ! 

His mission done, how peaceful lies 

That nobly faithful sacrifice. 




"They found them, pulseless, side by side." 
HORSE AND RIDER, AFTER THE FLOOD SUBSIDED. 

54 




" This city, built for peace, for brothers bound by love.' 



PHILADELPHIA, THEN AND NOW. 
1777-1895- 



This city, built for peace, for brothers bound by 
love. 

For homes, where Friends oppressed in sweet 
content could move ; 

Once calmly held its way throug'h war's tumultu- 
ous strife, 

Nor felt the boundiuL,'- pulse of fashion's tinselled 
life. 

Plain buildings, quiet streets, quaint men in som- 
bre dress. 

All silent, unaware of warfare's fierce distress — 

And wives and maidens fair with gentle, modest 
mien, 

Scarce thought of ought beyond this peaceful, 
home-like scene. 

The river either side sped swiftly on Its way, 
And touched with glittering pride the banks with 

verdure gay ; 
Bright birds flew through the streets on fearless, 

joyous wings. 
And pools where wild fowls sailed were fed by 

limpid springs. 
Hills shone with brilliant green, and harvest rich 

with gold, 
In rustling, whispering tones their plenteous store 

foretold ; 
While only muffled sounds of battle touched the 

walls 
Where Justice held her courts in fair, unfrescoed 

halls. 

55 



But once the British hosts awoke the eentle 

Friends, 
With flashing scarlet coats and ghttering- bayonet 

ends, 
That caught the sunlight gleams, and blinded 

anxious eyes 
Who watched the marching lines in terrified sur- 
prise. 
They entered sacred homes, and halls resounded 

long 
With sounds of moving feet, with revelry and 

sonof. 
They came to take the State, the Capital, the 

Land, 
And sweep the rebels back with boldly daring 

hand ! 

Instead the courts had flown beyond their eager 

reach. 
The records safely housed, — the halls were still, 

and speech 
Re-echoed from the walls that answered to the 

tread 
Of clanking swords and spurs, which told the 

prize had fled. 
That winter, gay life marred the Quaker City's 

peace : 
Loud tones and tramping troops were sounds 

that did not cease 
Until the clock told forth small hours which never 

saw 
Friends stumblinof through the dark and breakinof 

slumber's law. 

56 




THE OLD "LIBERTY BELL." 




THK OLD STATE HOUSE, WHERE THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE 
WAS PROCLAIMED — RECENT VIEW. 



The harbor bristled long with tide-swayed, idle 

ships 
Whose hulks were scarred and bruised ao-ainst 

the empty slips. 
In gay and reckless mirth the hours sped on, nor 

heard 
A brave commanding voice ring out the staying 

word. 
But what the patriots saw was idle armies camped 
Within beloved homes : — they saw their gardens 

tramped. 
And knew long years must pass before the tracks 

of harm 
Would yield to earnest toil and peaceful nature's 

charm. 

What then ? when spring awoke and fighting 

time had come 
Howe found his forces left behind far from the 

battle's hum ! 
While he had camped in ease the patriots left 

him there 
To slumberous rest, while they, alert and led with 

care, 
Rushed onward to the goal for which they gladly 

fouofht. 
While he, in Qrrim chacrrin, viewed what his ease 

had wrought. 
The city built in love no battle-ground could be, 
Nor shot nor cannon shell mar its tranquillity ! 

57 



Withdrawn the troops and ships, once more the 

wild bird san^", 
Once more the harvest ripe to meet the swift flail 

sprang, 
And industry stepped forth and money flowed to 

aid 
The cause that imjust laws a g-lorious Cause had 

made ! 
Might triumphed until Right braced hearts to 

never yield, 
While iron wills gave strength, and nerve and 

sinew steeled. 
Till Mctory stood in joy upon the ensign spread 
Where Freedom, love and hope the patriot army 

led! 

That city, calmly still, looks out on Commerce — 

ships 
Who swiftly come and go where ocean's current 

dips 
Aofainst far distant shores, who hail the banner 

briofht 
That dares to spread its folds where e'er the sun 

eives liofht ! 
Broad streets and noble halls, bright homes and 

riches won 
Through honest careful toil, hail every morning's 

sun. 
While peace and plenty reign, and honors brightly 

shine 
Upon the Quaker town — Freedom's most holy 
shrine ! 

5^ 



THE BATTLE-FIELD, ANTIETAM, 
SEPTEMBER 17, 1862. 



I TRACED that red line of battle 

As it trailed through the troubled South, 
And I heard the wild cries that followed 

The roar of the cannon's mouth. 
I watched the gray shadows gather 

On faces just bright with hope, 
And I saw shattered men and horses 

Lie dead on the blood-stained slope. 

Trees held out their broken branches 

And murmured as if in pain ; 
Their limbs, with those torn and bleeding, 

Were scattered across the plain. 
The hillside was strewn with soldiers, 

Some dead, and some wild to fight 
With foes who had left them wounded 

And robbed of their manhood's might ! 



59 



There were men with their heads snow-laden 

With years that had passed away ; 
There were boys with their cheeks unshaven, 

Laid low on that fearful day. 
And men with their lips a-quiver, 

Called out to their distant wives, 
Or spoke of the little children 

Dependent upon their lives. 

They could bear with the pain of dying 

For the flag which they loved so well ; 
But oh, for the dear ones yonder, 

What want would their absence tell ! 
It was sad to look on, and see them 

So grieved that they scarcely knew 
The moment the still, pale Boatman 

Swept away with his silent crew ! 



60 



Oh, the cries of the crushed were fearful ! 

But the silence was worse by far, 
For each dead one would cause a heart-break, 

Each absent would leave a scar ! 
Blood-wet was the field of carnage, 

Tear-wet would be many a face 
When the morrow had told the story 

Of this terrible battle-place ! 



6i 



A BROKEN BAYONET. 



All rusted, blood-stained and broken, 

I took it from off the field : 
A silent, impressive token 

Of courage that would not yield ! 
Was it steel matching- steel that rent it 

As they clashed in the stormy fight ? 
Or, as the strong warrior sent it. 

Was it met with such monster mio-ht 

o 

That the fibre of metal shattered 
As it quivered against the form 

Whose life-blood its blade bespattered 
Blood-crimson, and gushing warm ? 

It tells of those years of danger 

Burdened down with their awful freioht, 
Of sorrow where grief was a stranger, 

Of pain, and the sadder weight 
Of dead who had fought and perished 

Not knowing if after-years 
Could honor the flag they cherished. 

Or hide it away with tears ! 
They died, but the stains still linger 

On the rusted, insensate steel. 
And Time points his warning finger 

At the cost of the Nation's weal ! 
62 



I will hide it away with others — 

A sword and a piece of shell — 
Away where the silence smothers 

The woe of that fearful spell 
Which war and its friorhtful terrors 

Spread over the fair, sweet land, — 
TakinP" blood in exchange for errors, 

Throwing strife in a crimson band 
Over fields that were clad in beauty, 

Over hearts that were once at peace, 
Until battle was only duty. 

For liberty's swift release ! 





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PROSE DESCRIPTIVE CHAPTERS. 



THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM. 

By Bushrod Washington James. 



CHAPTER I. 

After the Battle of Antietam, Maryland, fought Sep- 
tember 1 7, 1 862, about Sharpsburg and along the Antie- 
tam stream ; the writer, then a young surgeon, sent out 
by the Christian Commission, under which he volun- 
teered his services, will never forget the horror and the 
pitiful suffering that spread out before him when be 
arrived upon the field. 

Through many vicissitudes General George B. Mc- 
Clellan led the portion of the army committed to his 
generalship to victory. But the cost of the triumph 
will never be definitely known, though the report of 
the battle stated a loss of at least 12,469 in killed, 
wounded and missing men on the Union side, while 
that of the Confederates was estimated at 1 8,472. These 
losses include those of the battles at Crampton's Gap 
and Turner's Gap, at South Mountain, which were 

6s 



fought on Sunday, 14th of September, 1862, by the 
two wings of each of the contending armies. 

Early on the morning of the 26th, in reconnoitering 
south ofthePotomac River on the Shepherdstown road, 
after the retreat of the rebel troops across the river, the 
Philadelphia Corn Exchange regiment, recruited from 
the flower of Philadelphia's brightest young men, to- 
gether with many other noble young soldiers sent to the 
field by the Union League, were surrounded in large 
force by the Confederates in ambuscade, and compelled 
to retreat over the bluffs on the Potomac. Many fell 
over the cliffs and were killed, numbers were shot in 
crossing the ford of the Potomac River, while many 
bodies of Union soldiers hung lifeless upon the breast 
of the dam, shot while escaping, where they lodged 
among timbers and stones for days afterwards, until 
the silenced guns betokened that, under the white flag 
of truce, it was safe to remo\e them for burial. 

Who will ever be able to tell how the hearts of those 
at home thrilled with anxiety as they watched, day by 
day, the progress of the War of this Rebellion, each 
morning glowing with the triumphant hope that the 
trouble would soon be settled, and peace once more 
be restored between the partially divided States. Alas, 
matters grew worse; the enemy drew nearer! 

When I heard of the batdc of South Mountain, in 
Maryland, I was impelled to volunteer as a surgeon, al- 
though I had sent a willing representative to the front, 
and had agreed to render professional services to the 

66 



families of any of my patients who had enlisted in the 
Army, or who mi<^ht do so. Willing to go to the 
front and render all the present assistance in my 
power to the wounded, or to act in any other capac- 
ity which duty to my countr)' required, I obtained 
a commission from the United States Christian Com- 
mission, of which the late George H. Stuart was the 
President, which permitted me to go forward and work 
with the Army surgeons on the field, in the hospitals 
or elsewhere, as a judicious employment of time seemed 
to dictate. My long-time esteemed friend, the late Dr. 
Charles A. Kingsbury, of Philadelphia, was also dele- 
gated in the same manner. We were furnished with 
a carload of supplies, preserved foods and other neces- 
saries required upon the field during and after a battle, 
as well as those for the field hospitals. 

When we reached South Mountain we found the 
hospitals well established, in good working order and 
efficiently supplied in every way. We were informed 
that a great battle was in progress, or perhaps just 
ended, down on the Potomac River. So we turned 
anxiously in the direction of the new field, although we 
were so unacquainted with the roads that it was rather 
a hazardous undertaking without a reliable guide. 
Fortunately we fell in with a surgeon of the Regular 
Army, who had been ordered to the front and to re- 
port at General Porter's headquarters, near Sharps- 
burg. He kindly offered to accompany our party and 
direct us to the front lines. We secured large wagons, 

67 



and very good teamsters, loaded our supplies and started 
with them to the outer line of the battle-ground. The 
following morning found us in the midst of the army 
and among the tents and hospitals of an active field. 
Yes, a battle had been fought, and reconnoitering 
parties were being sent out. And whatever the re- 
sult in history of the great battle, just then it was lost 
in the contemplation of its accomplishment and realiza- 
tion in the men who surrounded us ! There they lay in 
all positions — dead, dying, maimed, mangled ! Men of 
both armies now powerless to fight ! Silent and still — 
some of them forever still ! Some frowning and bearing 
their agony with speechless heroism. Some praying 
for water ! Many praying for death ! I stood for a 
time fairly shocked with my first view of a glorious 
battle-field! Now and again the booming of cannon re- 
sounded, accompanied by the sharp, cracking sound of 
musketry across the Potomac, indicating that a recon- 
noitering party was doing active duty, or that another 
fiery engagement was possibly even then in progress : 
and in imagination I could see the gallant soldiers meet 
in solid columns, and waver and press on again over the 
bodies of friend and foe! And this was war ! War, 
in which both fought for homes and country! War 
for the right! But, oh, the sacrifice ! Strange sounds 
filled my ears and strange sights met my eyes at 
every turn, as I gazed on the frightful havoc which 
those contending armies left in their wake, as they 
each struggled for the victory ! Every available house 

68 




W EH 



m > 



and barn was filled with the wounded ! Men were 
lying in rows on the lawn under the umbrageous trees, 
waiting to be assigned to beds in some of the build- 
ings as soon as it was possible to find places for them. 
Poor fellows ! Rebel and Federal side by side. One 
here joking grimly at his wound, another with his lips 
close pressed to keep back the groans, and some with 
eyes tear-dimmed with pity for his companions and his 
loved ones at home ! Some were so mangled that, 
even as they were being tenderly moved, they passed 
away. Oh, how painful and harrowing to one's sym- 
pathies was the sight! Where there was hope, however 
ghastly the wound, one could go to work cheerfully, 
but the suffering, the agony which could not be cured! 
the sad overshadowing gloom of death darkening the 
features ! That it was which made the heart sick at the 
very name of battle! Beyond the tents, in places where 
the struggle was fiercest, were dead men and dead 
horses near together, as they had fallen when pressed 
by advancing battalions ! The scene was be}-ond ade- 
quate description ! And among them was the debris of 
the implements of war. Commissary wagons and artil- 
lery carriages dismantled, broken and useless ! Swords, 
guns, muskets; entire, broken and bent! Whole shells, 
fragments of shells, musket balls, canteens, coats, blank- 
ets, hats and other articles dropped by the fleeing 
enemy or by those of the victors who could never fight 
again ! 

All nature had suffered in the contest and the 
69 



patient toil of years was immolated ! Trees were scar- 
red by shells, pierced by balls, and torn and broken. 
Grain, corn and grass were trampled by the charging 
hosts until the harvest was worthless ! Houses and 
barns were riddled with shot and shattered with shells ! 
And stone fences and earthworks were baptized with 
blood ! The life blood of those for whom mothers had 
prayed, and who had been the pride of many a father's 
heart ! 

I found plenty of work to do among the wounded. 
They were brought in, and surgeons dressed or ampu- 
tated limbs forever useless, sewed up gaping wounds, 
removed bullets, applied splints to fractures, arranged 
dressings and bandages, and administered refreshments, 
as they were required, until the wounded men were 
placed under the care of nurses and hospital stewards. 
I found several of the wounded with whom I was ac- 
quainted, old schoolmates and friends whom I had not 
met for years. The recognition was cordial and heart- 
felt under the circumstances, and such as I shall never 
forget. 

I worked with other surgeons among the poor, suffer- 
ing, wounded soldiers until I was almost exhausted, and 
I felt that I must stop for a while, but not exactly to rest ; 
— I had a desire to ride over the battle-field, and to 
gain some idea regarding the extent of its territory. 
This part of the South was new to me, and I hope it 
may never be my misfortune to make the acquaintance 
of another place as I did that devastated neighborhood 

70 



of Antietam. Surgeon Thomas, in charge at General 
Porter's headquarters, very kindly loaned me his trusty 
horse, whose actions proved to me that he had carried 
his worthy owner through such scenes as these before. 
He did not swerve at the sounds, nor shy at the strange 
scenes which met our eyes in all directions — ev^en the 
bodies of his fallen companions did not make him 
pause and tremble or turn back. Through what severe 
discipline must the gentle animal have passed before 
his nature was subdued to such calm stoicism ! 

As I rode on I felt the full realization of the results 
of a severe battle, and as if I was a moving figure in 
some frightful dream. Surely, Dante must have loitered 
among such scenes as this, else where had he gained 
his gruesome inspiration ? Now and then a moan 
reached my ears, from whence I could not tell among 
all those strange surroundings. Perhaps it was the 
wind grieving for the beautiful trees, whose dismantled 
branches would never again answer to its voice. Per- 
haps it was the low, sweeping breeze mourning for the 
waving grain and rustling corn, now crushed and deeply 
dyed with color more costly than dyes of Persia. I 
only knew that I heard such sounds. If some poor, 
wounded fellow man saw me riding from him with no 
answer to his last call for aid, would he ever know that 
I was moving in a mysterious, cruel dream ? Would 
he ever know that the awful reality of my surround- 
ings were holding me in a hideous nightmare, and 
that I could not distintruish his voice from the sisfhincf 



of the wind? If that trampled, blood-wet ground had 
only been covered with discarded, ruined and tattered 
clothing and broken weapons, it would have been sad 
enough ! If bruised and shattered trees, riddled build- 
ings and the strange, ghostly silence of desertion had 
been all, it would have been solemn enough ! Noble 
animals, still unburied, scattered around in tortured 
attitudes would have called forth deep sympathy for 
this fearful ending of their career ! Then who can ever 
express by word or act the wave on wave of sorrowful 
pity that swelled my heart until it was ready to break 
with the weight ? I rode on through that vast, new char- 
nel-house. No ! No ! Over that broad altar of sacrifice ! 
The God of War might well be pleased with his victims 
of that day ! They were the flower of the contending 
hosts ! But now they lay side by side — yes, occasion- 
ally even one upon another — the Grey and the Blue 
alike darkened with that deep stain! The sun glared 
down upon the scene with the heat and brightness in- 
tensified by the absence of shade or verdure ! It was 
seemingly unkind, as it blazed upon the upturned faces 
and wide-open eyes ! But there was no shrinking from 
the glow — no turning from the torrid heat ! Death 
reigned all around, and I was alone with him and his 
entombed, and still unburied subjects ! I and the faith- 
ful horse, who ambled along almost unguided by my 
hands. We, the two living things just there in the open 
fields among the fallen, whose names would be printed 
amoncf the dead or missing in the war columns. Was 



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this all real — or would I awake by and by to find that 
I had been held under a frightful spell ? There were 
the yellow flags flying from the hospital buildings — there 
w^ere rumbling teams and shouting men in the distance 
— and far away, along the roads and hillsides, a regu- 
lar moving line showed where those who were left of 
the army were on the march. All of that long, dark 
line were infantry, artillery, cavalry, moving under the 
direction of one noble spirit and willing to face once 
more — aye, again and again, if need be — such a scene 
as this ! The enemy had retreated — not conquered, 
but overpowered. They were down across the river, and 
e\er and anon the sound of cannon told that they were 
e\'en now apparently ready for another battle. Once 
in a while the sharp, quick report of a musket spoke 
of a picket, who was doing his part of a soldier's 
duty along the Potomac. Across the river, and over 
the hills, the sound of life and activity sped in never- 
to-be forgotten contrast with this forsaken field, whose 
only signs of life would soon be the men detailed to bury 
the dead and collect any remaining valuables. I stop- 
ped my horse and gazed around, fascinated by the 
death-like stillness of the very daylight above the 
field of carnage, and I grew sick of the sights and the 
sad, comfortless thoughts. Before, I was weary of 
work ; now I was weary of the horrible accompani- 
ments of battle and \ictory ! The unreality of it all 
had passed from my brain. I knew I was riding 
over the recent battle-field and among the dead, and I 



turned from it toward the hospital camp. Picture upon 
picture of woeful agony and death had passed before 
me until my soul was heavy with the burden that was 
laid upon my memory, to take with me as long as I 
should live. My ears almost welcomed the sounds 
preparatory to another scene of blood and agony and 
death. What mattered it that Rebel and Patriot lay side 
by side ? They were all men with souls hurled into the 
presence of their Creator ! With Him is Mercy and Love, 
and to His care we leave them, daring not to question 
which of all these are His chosen, or which will never 
behold His face ? Urging my horse, I soon gained 
headquarters. I heard the loud hurrahs of the soldiers 
as their commander, General George B. McClellan, and 
his staff rode past. They cleared the clouds that recent 
scenes had thrown around my thoughts, and I returned 
to work among those in whom we found hope of re- 
covery. I toiled with the other surgeons for hours 
upon hours at a time unremittingly. Evening fell 
almost too soon, but after a supper of hardtack and a 
diluted mixture of condensed milk and tea, I was glad 
when the gloom of night came, and I sought my bed, 
which was a little heap of straw and a blanket. Not- 
withstanding, I had a delightfully refreshing rest, until 
the new dawn waked me to another day of toilsome 
activity among the wounded and feverish sufferers. 



74 



SECOND DAY IX THE AXTIETAM HOS- 
PITALS. 

Upon the afternoon of my second day in the hospi- 
tals, after a morning of really arduous work among the 
sufferers, a party of us constituted ourselves a relief 
band, to go out across the river and bring into camp 
any wounded or sick men who might have been over- 
looked in the haste and confusion of collecting, and 
bringing in to the hospitals our fallen soldiers. We 
fastened a Avhite handkerchief to a pole, went down to 
the bank of the Potomac River, and carrying our im- 
provised flag of truce we crossed the large dam span- 
ning the stream above the fording place, and marched up 
the road some distance in the neighborhood of the en- 
campment of the Southern army, when we were met 
on the road by the river by a counter white flag, and a 
number of officers from the headquarters of General 
Longstreet or Stonewall Jackson, I do not rightly 
remember which, who responded to our request by a 
blank refusal to be permitted to go over the field and 
into the forest in order to find out if any of our men 
had been left there. They told us that if any had been 
left they were now under the care of their hospital 
corps ; if any should be found they would likewise be 
cared for, and a search would be made for any who 
might be hidden in the thickets ; as for ourselves, they 
gave us just thirty minutes to recross the river and get 
back to camp ! We wasted no precious time in parley- 



ing.but made rather better time in (getting back than we 
did in going ! As we recrossed the broad dam, we were 
compelled to wade through the overflowing waters in 
places, and to leave some of our dead soldiers dangling 
over its edge or lying ready to be swept away by the 
first flood ! We had hoped to give them burial, but it 
was impossible to do so in the limited time, and we 
felt sure that we would either meet their fate, if we 
lingered, or have, if anything, a worse experience, in 
being made prisoners. 

During that night several of our wounded men 
came out of the thickets, crawled across the ford below 
where the Confederate hospitals were situated and came 
in to ours for treatment. In the evening, after a supper 
of hardtack and tea, I crossed the Sharpsburg pike to 
visit the hospital there, and talk with m}' friend, the 
Regular Army surgeon, who had directed us to the outer 
lines. He showed me some cases of cowardly men, who 
had shot off the ends of their right forefingers, hoping 
it would be considered accidental. This, he said, was a 
trick often resorted to by the poltroons who were un- 
willing to face the enemy. That finger being the one 
used in pulling the trigger of gun or musket, its loss 
disqualified them for service, and they had to be sent to 
a hospital for treatment. The hospitals are always sit- 
uated at the rear of the arm\' in a protected location 
during an engagement, and these dastardly fellows in- 
flicted ignominious injuries upon themselves sothatthe}' 
could be protected from the dangers of an engagement. 



One could not resist indulging a feeling of scorn for 
them and v^ery little sympathy for their wounds. 

I dignify the buildings in which our wounded were 
treated by the name of " hospitals," but they were 
houses, barns, coach-houses, wood-sheds, in fact, any- 
thing in the shape of shelter for the suffering, and we 
made no distinction between the North and the South 
when they came before us in the shape of injured 
human beings. After every available space was oc- 
cupied there were still some comparatively neglected, 
though Antietam was nothing to compare with Gettys- 
burg in the great numbers who were under surgical 
care in the open air. 

Among the peculiar cases which my friend had 
under his treatment was a soldier with a great por- 
tion of the parietal region of the skull knocked 
away by a shell. The bone had been crushed, and 
portions were left pressing upon the brain and its 
membranes. The surgeon had carefully trephined and 
removed all the fragments of bone and the depressed 
edges, and had dressed the wound carefully, leaving a 
portion of the cerebrum three inches by four exposed, 
yet the man was conscious and doing well. When he 
talked the brain pulsated up and down with regularity 
at the uncovered portion, and the more actively he 
conversed the more rapidly the convolutions became 
alternately elevated and depressed. He was doing 
so well when I last saw him that my surgical friend 
had every hope of his recovery ; but I never heard 



whether his hopes were reahzed or not. In fact, I heard 
no more from him subsequent to my return from Antie- 
tam wearied and worn out with work. I saw a case of a 
similar nature when I was a medical student. At the old 
Pennsylv^ania Hospital there was a patient whose skull 
had been fractured by a gun-shot, leaving an opening in 
the parietal region one by two inches in area. In this 
case also the brain pulsated through the opening all the 
time while the man talked, but there was no great pul- 
sation while he was quiet. He recovered, and was 
subsequently discharged from the hospital well. 

There were many, many cases of peculiar interest to 
me observed on the Antietam battle-field. In fact, I 
doubt not, had there been a possibility of keeping full 
records for reference, that the most experienced sur- 
geons would have been surprised at the recovery of 
many whose injuries appeared at first to be too severe 
to yield to the most careful scientific treatment. 

I worked among the wounded, sick and dying 
soldiers until I became so completely overtaxed that 
I was compelled to return home to recuperate. Very 
regretfully I left, for I felt all the professional service 
that I could possibly render the noble men who had 
given themselves to the weal of their country and 
mine was but a just and honorable offering to the flag 
and its protectors. 

I brought with me several trophies from the battle- 
field, relics which I collected as I strolled over the 
devastated and bloody battle-ground, after an arduous 

7S 



day of surgical duty. There was an eloquent silence 
all around me, as if nature was gazing spellbound 
upon these fields of carnage. Broken implements of 
war were strewn around, many stained with that one 
crimson color that had poured from human arteries. 
Everything trampled, battered and dropped where 
their owners had fallen or had pressed onward unen- 
cumbered by their weight. There was the bloody lane, 
or sunken road, literally covered with the dead; also 
trampled wheat and corn fields, the scenes of furious 
bayonet charges. There was the old Dunkard church, 
scarred with shot and shell in the fearful conflict. 
There was the stone wall, over which the contending 
armies had fought desperately, had made fierce bayo- 
net charges, had met hand to hand with clubbed mus- 
kets ! Oh, the horror of it! The stones told an awful 
story of that terrific fight ! And the ground was soaked 
with blood, where the Union soldiers sank down ex- 
hausted beside the wall, after they had driven the enemy 
away from their post ! Far to the east and south ran 
the lovely Antietam creek, and the Burnside stone 
bridge that was the place of a most fearful conflict and 
wonderful slaughter on both sides, now undisturbed and 
clearly outlined by the sunlight, for the smoke of deadly 
strife had long since faded away. Never can I forget that 
scene of quiet desolation, after the din and groans and 
cries and shouts of the equally determined belligerents ! 
No words can ever tell as those darkly tinted rocks and 
stones, and that blackened earth, told of the terror of the 

79 



conflict! And it was only one of many, many battles of 
the ruinous war ! I gazed long upon that single battle- 
field, and silently meditating upon the others, and then 
I thought of the vast territory from Pennsylvania, East 
and West, far down to the fair borders of the " Sunny 
South," all wet with the life-blood of bra\'e men, each 
fighting for their homes ! 

Oh, the sad mistake it was that bathed so fair a land 
in such a flood of living crimson ! But Peace came, 
and with it prosperity and union stronger than ever. 
Now, all look with unselfish pride upon a country, 
whose beauty, wealth and enterprise has never had an 
equal ! Clouds will come, politics and business will 
jar a little, discontent will show its hydra head some- 
times — and dishonesty will reap its time of success and 
its abyss of retribution ; but they will only make the 
sunshine of peace, happiness and success glow more 
brightly! They will make mankind behold with what 
brilliancy the light will eventually break through the 
most severe adversity ! 



ANTIETAM REVISITED THIRTY-THREE 
YEARS AP^TER THE BATTLE. 

Antietam, Md., September 20, 1895. 

Just thirt)--threc years ago to-day I found myself 
working among the wounded soldiers of General Por- 
ter's Department of the Army of the Potomac, Fifth 



Army Corps. A part of the division, including the 
gallant Corn Exchange Regiment, of Philadelphia, had 
been detailed to make a reconnoissance on the south 
side of the Potomac in order to ascertain whether 
General Lee had retreated beyond the river or not. 
These troops were surprised by a Confederate ambus- 
cade on the Shepherdstown Heights, and driven like 
sheep over the face of the precipitous rocks overlook- 
ing the Potomac and then forced over the breastwork 
of the dam, or hurried mercilessly across the ford 
under the fierce fire of the Confederates, who sprung 
up from the cover of the wooded valleys, drove the 
Union force back and occupied the position that the 
brigade had but a few moments previous held. 

One of my principal objects in visiting this place, 
independent of the bird's-eye view that I wished to 
gain of the old battle-field, the lines of approach made 
by the contending armies and the retreat of Lee, was 
that I might see the old house that was at that time 
occupied by General Porter as his headquarters, and 
which we afterwards used as a hospital for wounded 
officers, as well as quarters for the surgical staff who 
worked so faithfully on that dreadful battle-ground. 

Driving down the old road towards the Potomac 
from Sharpsburg, when a short distance from a station 
on a newbranch of the Norfolk and Western Railroad, 
I recognized the brick house on my left as the one 
which I sought. It was at that time owned by a family 
named Grove, who still possess and occupy it, though 

8i 



at the time of the war they were necessitated to give it 
up to the wounded and dying defenders of the Union. 
Nearly opposite, on my right, I looked for the old barn 
which was occupied as a hospital under my friend, the 
Regular Army surgeon, who had led us to the outer 
line of the army in which our active service, after the 
battle, was so woefully needed. It had vanished, and 
a railroad had been made through its immediate situa- 
tion, and a railroad station had been erected near by. 
I turned into a gate, and riding through a wide 
lawn planted with many apple trees, bearing luscious 
fruitage, I approached the house. Vivid reminiscences 
of the blood-stained scenes which had met my eyes 
upon this very spot, came before my mind so distinctly 
that, for the moment, I lived those hours over again. 
The house is unaltered ; here are some of the trees 
under which we had lain rows of helpless heroes who 
had been wounded in the conflict. Some of them were 
friends whom I did not expect to meet in such a pitia- 
ble condition. I might have spent a long time in 
solemn retrospect, but that I remembered that I had 
no warrant to do so without announcing my presence. 
I rang the bell and the door was opened immediately 
by a slender lady with a very pleasant face who had 
seen my approach. I asked her permission to look 
at the lower rooms of the house, explaining to her my 
surgical labors in those rooms, the old barn, the car- 
riage house and on the lawn after the frightful engage- 
ment at Antictam. She very politel)' showed me the 

S2 



rooms and listened to me with intense interest, and 
joined with me in comparing the scene as it lay before 
our eyes now, and as it was then. To-day, the fair, 
green lawn is defaced by no dull, red stains ; the soft 
murmur of the wind among the evergreens, and the 
occasional fall of an apple are the sounds which take 
the place of the suppressed moaning of suffering men. 
Here lay the Union heroes ; in the barn were Rebel 
wounded. They were heroes too, and as such, the sur- 
geon dressed their w^ounds. Perhaps some of them 
to-day are living to tell the story of their struggle and 
defeat. 

A little orphan boy wdio had been adopted by Mr. 
Grove, showed me around the place and into the barn, 
and gathered some of the large, beautiful apples from 
under the trees for me. Before leaving, I turned and 
took a long survey of the peaceful scene. No blood- 
stains, no tortured human beings crying for water, for 
release from pain, for the dear ones at home. Instead, 
the velvet greensward, the waving branches of fruit- 
laden trees, and near by a great cider-press with bar- 
rels standing round, telling in silent language of the 
expectation of an abundant harvest. I will not soon 
forget the contrast between my first and last visit to 
that spot. Then I beheld the harvest of strife between 
fiercely contending armies — and it was only blood and 
pain and misery and death. To-day I am gazing upon 
the rich harvest of peace and its happiness and pros- 
perity. Well may we pray and trust that our beauti- 



fill land shall never again be marred by contention and 
bloodshed. 

Turning my back upon the quiet scene I drove down 
to the Potomac River. The road to my left, which 
had been cut by Lee, as a short route to the ford over 
the Potomac, I found deserted and made almost im- 
passable by vines, brush and undergrowth. 

As I came down the hill, in sight of the wide dam, 
I noted a number of buildings, among them a cement 
mill which had been erected since the war times, 
changing the lonel}- road now to one of acti\-e enter- 
prise. The breast of the dam over which we crossed 
on that day was very much more broken down, and 
right among those dreadful, precipitous rocks, I per- 
ceived the irregular indentations of a large quarry. It 
was situated almost in the centre of the cliff, overlook- 
ing the road along which our brigade defiled to meet 
the enemy under General Longstreet. 

There is the road — those rocks over which our out- 
numbered troops were hastened to destruction — and 
the dam across which we saw several of our soldiers' 
bodies lodged, while we dare not stop long enough to 
bring them away for burial. But no trace is left ex- 
cept in memory. The rocks are silent, and the waters 
of the Potomac ripple as calmly as if they had nc\-er 
been stained with blood. 

I took the Harper's p^erry road along the canal 
toward the mouth of Antietam Creek, along which the 
Confederate Army marched as it filed toward the ford 

S4 



when forced from the hills beyond, by the Union 
Army under General McClellan, with General Burn- 
side of the Ninth Army Corps in command of this 
left wing. The day was intensely hot, and I quenched 
my thirst with a copious draught from the spring, at 
the foot of the hill where the road from Sharpsburg 
came down, and whose cool waters still flow sweet 
and limpid. Gaining the hill at a point about a mile 
below, I reached the new government road which has 
been cut and macadamized recently, along the brow of 
the ridge overlooking the Antietam Valley. I rode 
slowly over it, surveying the ground which was the 
position occupied by the Confederate Army. Beyond 
me was a grand view of the hills where fierce engage- 
ments occurred that terrible da}'. I could look over 
to the old Antietam bridges, and especially the one so 
furiously contested for and gained by General Burn- 
side and his noble division. Aline of green trees in a 
depression among the undulating hills, gives a clear 
outline of the winding Antietam Creek ; upon the 
west and southwest sides of it, the Confederate Army 
was strongly fortified and posted in considerable 
numbers. Continuing along the government road, 
the situations of the old stone fence, where the oppos- 
ing contestants fought with bayonets and butts of 
their guns over this wall, which is still standing as on 
that fearful day. Other places where the several 
sanguineous conflicts had taken place that afternoon, 
were easily recognized. Passing on to the north of 

5^5 



this ridge that was held so stubbornly by a great 
portion of the Rebel troops on the 17th of September, 
I turned to the right on the Sharpsburg road and 
drove to the three-arched stone bridge, the place 
where so many li\-es were lost in General Burnside's 
command, in their efforts to cross the creek under the 
fire of the strongly planted Confederate batteries on 
the opposite side. These guns not only covered the 
approach to the bridge, but they swept the open space 
over which the division had endeavored to pass to 
reach it. They were compelled to retreat because of 
the murderous fire from the wooded hills overlooking 
their position. At i o'clock General Burnside, find- 
ing that General McClellan could not send him rein- 
forcements, then made the bravely desperate charge 
from another direction through a woods and down the 
hillside bank of the Antietam which took the bridge, 
and a couple of hours afterwards his troops had forced 
the heights and silenced the Rebel batteries. 

I gazed long upon those hills, the beautiful stream 
and the richly fertile fields which were once red with 
blood. Much of the woods has been cut awa\' for agri- 
cultural improvement. My curiosity led me to ride 
among some of the farmhouses, barns and other old 
buildings which were used as hospitals for the wounded 
soldiers. Farther on, in the little village known before 
the war as Porterstown, I observed the house where 
General Porter had his headquarters with a reserve force, 
and a little beyond I saw the red brick house on the 

S6 



Keedysville pike in which General McClellan had his 
headquarters, and where General Richardson died. 

Being at the base of the Elk Mountains, at a point 
near which the chief signal station of General Mc- 
Clellan's army was situated, I concluded to visit the 
McClellan Gap and see the field as he had seen it 
before the battle. The road is quite long and circui- 
tous, leading up the mountain through thrifty peach 
orchards, which extend down the slopes far to the 
southward. This road is kept in splendid order all 
the way to the top of the mountain and over it by the 
farmers and others who are interested in the peach 
plantations, and who convey the product of the 
orchards and their farms through the Gap to the rail- 
road station at Keedysville, where the Baltimore and 
Ohio Railroad runs a branch road from Hagerstown 
to Weaverton Junction on the main line. 

Reaching the summit of the mountain I ascended 
the lookout, which is kept in good condition by Mr. 
Snavely, of Sharpsburg, who now owns the property, 
and who is rejoiced when visitors take the trouble to 
climb the steep and view the most glorious scenery 
imaginable. On South Mountain, lying to the north- 
east, I beheld the monument erected to General Wash- 
ington on the old government road. It shows out in 
relief in the glorious sunlight, and brought to mind 
many thoughts of the war which made us an inde- 
pendent nation, as well as this later struggle for the 
integrity of the Union. 

S7 



Brinijing my eyes down from the lovely green moun- 
tain vistas into the wide space between Elk Ridge and 
South Mountain, I beheld Pleasant Valley, overlooking 
which was that scene of carnage. It is rich in pros- 
perous villages, farms and orchards, promising such 
an abundance of wealth as is seldom enjoyed by the 
husbandman. It even rivals the luxuriance of the 
valley of Acadia or the mountain vales of Mexico, 
equalling the most fruitful farms of Pennsylvania, 
Massachusetts, New York or any other agricultural 
State. 

The whole situation of the two battle-grounds of 
South Mountain — Turner's Gap and Crampton's Gap — 
the line of march taken by the advancing Con- 
federate Army to Pleasant Valley, and then around the 
Elk Ridge into that continuous part of the valley 
extending to Keedysville and thence along the Keedys- 
ville turnpike to Sharpsburg, also the Antietam Valley 
and many other places and interesting points of note, 
lay before my point of observation like a tinted pano- 
rama. My eyes drank in the exquisitely beautiful area 
over which the battle of Antietam was so desperately 
contested. The view, now grandly lovely in its autum- 
nal covering, bears few traces of those awful times. 
The woods are just beginning to take on their autumn 
shades ; the farmers are busy in their broad, fertile 
fields ; away in the distance, towns and hamlets appear 
to view; the stream wanders in glistening beauty in its 
winding course, and all is peace and prosperity. 

ss 



My guide, Mr. Oliver S. Riley, of Sharpsburg, 
pointed out to me in detail the whole field, the begin- 
ning of the contests, the attacks, retreats and the 
points of the most furious struggles in the fateful 
valley of Antietam and its hillside environments. 
There was the stone wall in the distance in the field so 
fiercely fought for, across the Antietam, in gaining the 
ridge of hills near the Potomac. Away to westward, 
the Dunkard church and the memorable stone fence 
near it on the Hagerstown road, and the post-and-rail 
fences, wJiere the conflicting armies fought like 
demons in that fiercely corrtest-ed part of the field. 
There, too, the Bloody Lane, a roadway which then 
had a depression or deep cut in it, and in which 
human bodies were literally heaped one upon another 
as they fought to hold it against the Union forces, but 
the lane is now macadamized and put in order by 
the Government. I found some bullets, buck-shot and 
other relics exposed in the side of the banks here, 
and will keep these as mementoes of one of the 
fiercest battles of the Rebellion. The old fences 
along the Hagerstown road yet bear evidence of that 
dreadful 17th of September, 1862. 

West of Sharpsburg still stands this old white 
Dunkard church which the Rebels held as a strong- 
hold, and the woods almost surrounding it where they 
concealed themselves and on the ridge back of which 
lay the formidable Confederate batteries which opposed 
the advancing Union soldiers. The old church was 



much defaced with holes made by shot and shell when 
I gazed upon it in 1862 ; an old oak tree among some 
others back of it, had its top shot away. It still lives, 
but is stunted at its top, and the greater strength of its 
growth is now spent upon a huge limb extending to the 
southeastward side just below its torn off-upper trunk. 
On nearer view to-day I found the old fences and 
some of the trees around, still more or less riddled by 
the fiercely flying shot and shell of the battle. And 
though time is endeavoring to destroy forever the evi- 
dences of that fearful contention between brothers and 
friends, it will be long before they will be eradicated. 
Perhaps it is well for some signs to remain as A\'arnings 
against civic war ; against those who should be forever 
united, never rising again in such fateful discontent. 

I took a farewell \'iew of Hagerstown away in the 
gleaming distance, of the fair Potomac now lying in 
quiet beauty within its hill and valley home, and of the 
entire contested area over which peace and plenty now 
reign in perfect loveliness. 

I visited the whole battle-field in detail, I have just 
had a bird's-eye view of that spot among the beautiful 
mountains, whose exquisite fairness has buried nearly 
every trace of the conflict. My heart swells with sor- 
row at the terrible past, which breaks upon my mental 
vision oftentimes with all its terror and agony, with all 
its darkening stains, and its frightful cries of misery 
and pain. But now all is buried for the time under 
the verdure and pastoral loveliness which greet me 

yo 



upon every side as I slowly turn from the mountain 
crest into the fertile valley along the road to Keedys- 
ville. Instead of the tramp of infantry, the rumble 
of artillery and the clashing of cavalry sabre, there 
are only the soft, low sounds of the farmers upon 
their ripening fields, the tramp of my horse's hoofs 
and the songs of the birds among the quivering 
branches. 

A keen wave of thankfulness passes over my sensi- 
tive nature, already made joyful by the peaceful 
scenes through which I have been wandering, and I 
sincerely invoke the Dove of Peace to dwell forever 
in our glorious, blood-bought Union, 

I ascertained that the following monuments have 
been erected at Antietam : — The 51st Pennsylvania 
Regiment monument and 35th Massachusetts at the 
Burnside bridge; these were the first two regiments 
to cross in the charge made over this three-arched 
stone structure which spans the Antietam Creek. 

The iith Connecticut ought to be at this Burnside 
bridge, but its monument stands in the i6th Connec- 
ticut ten-acre lot from the famous forty-acre corn field. 
The monument of the latter is here situated too. 

The 8th Connecticut stands on the hill overlooking 
the Harper's F'erry road where General A. P. Hill's 
division came in and drove Burnside back to the 
bridge but not across it. This is to the southeast 
of the town of Sharpsburg. 

The 20th New York monument stands in the Na- 
91 



tional Cemetery, but it fought near the burned Mumma 
building. 

The 4th New York stands in the National Ceme- 
tery, but it fought at the Bloody Lane and lost very 
heavily. 

The 14th Connecticut and 5th Maryland memorials 
stand on their positions at the Bloody Lane. The 5th 
Maryland lost twenty-seven out of fifty-five of one 
company in their charge by the Roulette buildings to 
the Bloody Lane. 

Among the monuments contemplated being erected 
may be mentioned : — The 9th New York. Hawkin's 
Zouaves, of the 9th Corps, own five acres of land be- 
tween the bridge and Sharpsburg and intend erecting 
a suitable tablet next summer. 

The 2 1st Massachusetts have permission to put one 
on the west side of the bridge. 

The 69th, 71st, 72d and io6th Pennsylvania, the old 
Philadelphia Brigade, are going to put up a large one 
near the Dunkard church and are collecting funds for 
the same in their city at the present time. They have 
bought eleven acres of land for a little park to cost 
$ 1 5 ,000. 

Snow's Maryland Battery thinks of putting up one 
likewise. 

The people of the State of Connecticut are consider- 
ing the obtaining of an appropriation for a monu- 
ment to General Mansfield at an early day. 

The government of the L'nitcd States has done, and 
9- 



is doing, a noble work in laying out fine driveways 
reaching all the points of interest. The roads thus far 
laid out by the government are : — First, the one from 
the station at Antietam to the National Cemetery, one 
and three-quarters miles in length. It cost ^45,000 
to build the road, the sidewalks and retaining walls. 

Next I may mention the avenue from the Hagers- 
town turnpike to the Kcedysville pike through the 
famous Bloody Lane, which is macademized. 

The next one laid out runs from the Dunkard church 
in through the woods to the rear of the Confederate 
lines along the ledge or hills west of the Hagerstown 
road and opposite the famous corn field, to the north 
woods beyond the David R. Miller house, where the 
old toll gate was located. This goes through the 
grounds where Hooker and Mansfield made the 
attempt to flank General Jackson ; General Stuart's 
Confederate cavalry also lay near this point. 

The next avenue goes through the north woods 
where General Hooker opened the battle, driving Gen- 
eral Hood, of the Confederates, from this and the east 
woods through the famous corn field. 

This road goes through the Joseph Poffenberger 
farm lane. Doubleday's batteries were in the rear of 
the Poffenberger buildings ; this road strikes the 
Smoketown road running from the Dunkard church 
through the east woods. 

The next government highway runs from the 
Keedysville pike, south across the Burnside bridge 

93 



road on to the Harper's Ferry road, and covers the 
gro'und fought over by Burnside and Toombs, and 
along- the stone and rail fence, running north and south 
in the open field at that time, and near where Gen- 
eral A. P. Hill came in and drove Burnside back. 

I did not learn of any other roads that are to be 
opened, although if the Battlefield Company obtain an 
appropriation they will have a road put through from 
the Dunkard church, running east to join the one in 
the east woods, also a drive from said road through by 
the Mumma farm to the Bloody Lane. Tlien also one 
over the old Mumma Lane. Likewise the road to 
Burnside bridge from Sharpsburg, and the road from 
Sharpsburg to connect with the one that strikes the 
Harper's Ferry road will no doubt all be macadamized 
and turned into fine driving avenues. 

In regard to the situation of army hospitals after 
the battle was over, I will state that the houses and 
barns in the rear of the east woods of Samuel Poffen- 
berger and Michael Miller were hospitals. The owners 
are both still lixing. Also those of Henry Nerkuker 
and Dr. Kennedy, near the Antietam, in the rear of 
the McClellan headquarters, on the west side of the 
creek. These latter are both dead. 

Roulette's house, near the Bloody Lane. Mr. Rou- 
lette still living. 

David R. Miller's, John Middlekauff's and John 
Hoffman's houses were so used. These men are all 
deceased. 

94 



Dr. Joseph Smith's house, near the summer fording 
buildings, was occupied, but is now all torn away. 

George Lines' house, near the Smoketown Hospital, 
was so used. 

The Geeting, or Locust Spring Hospital, near 
Keedysville Reformed church, in Keedysville, was 
filled with the wounded. 

The Wyand store building, in Keedysville, a new 
one, had 243 wounded in it for a while, but many of 
these were soon moved to Frederick City. 

In fact, nearly every building, and almost all the 
coach-houses and barns, near the field of strife, for a 
time, had a few wounded in them. 

Henry Geltmacher's, near the Geeting Hospital, had 
some wounded in it, and Joseph Thomas' property, 
near Porterstown, and different houses in Porterstown, 
had a number of wounded in them. In John H. 
Snavely's house, at the Belinda Springs, a number 
were placed and died from their wounds. 

The General Fitzjohn Porter headquarters and the 
hospital was owned during the battle by Stephen P. 
Grove, who died a few years ago. Mrs. Stephen P. 
Grove died about a year ago, and the place now be- 
longs to her children, Mr. A. D. Grove and Miss Lulu 
Grove. They occupy it at present. This house stands 
on the road on which Lee's forces retreated towards the 
Potomac, and was one of the many buildings used as 
Confederate, and afterwards as Federal hospitals. This 
is where the author worked as a volunteer surgeon. 

95 



The old Lutheran church, now torn away, was used 
as a hospital by both the Union and Confederate 
armies. 

The German Reformed, the Methodist and the old 
Episcopal churches were used as Federal hospitals. 

The two warehouses on the canal at Grove's Land- 
ing, one and one-half miles from Sharpsburg, were 
Confederate hospitals. 

The farm buildings on the Captain David Smith's 
farm, one-half mile west of Sharpsburg, near the 
Stephen Gro\e house ; Jacob F. Miller's, near the 
Burnside bridge ; H. B. Rolirback's, near the Burn- 
side bridge, were used as hospitals ; both of the then 
owners are now dead. 

The Dunkard church was used by both armies suc- 
cessively for a similar purpose. 

John Otto's and the Sherrick house, near the Burn- 
side bridge, were both used for hospitals. John Otto 
is now dead, and the house is owned by Jacob Stine. 
The Sherrick house was owned by Victor Newcomer, 
deceased, and is now the property of his widow, who is 
still living. Many others could be mentioned. 

General Rodman, of the 9th Corps, and Colonel 
Kingsbury, of the i ith Connecticut and of the 9th 
Corps, died at the Rohrback house. 

General McClellan's headquarters were at the 
Philip Pry house. After the war Mr. Pry failed, sold 
out and moved to Johnson City, Tenn., where he still 
lives. 

96 



The present owner of the old house is Jacob Key- 
fauver, and it is occupied by himself and family. 

Mr, Pry is a brother of Samuel Pry, of Pry's Mills, 
near the Hooker bridge and the summer fording on the 
Antietam Creek, near Keedysville. 

The town of Sharpsburg was in the centre of the 
battle-ground, and its streets were strewn with militar}' 
debris after the conflict. It was the former home of 
the Delaware Indian tribe, and the town was laid out 
July 9, 1763, five years after the French and Indian 
war, the Indians having located here several trading 
posts. 

The Delaware and Catawba Indian tribes were en- 
gaged in warfare, and in 1732 fought a sanguinary 
battle in which the Delawares were conquered, and 
they were eventually exterminated. This battle took 
place at the Antietam Iron Works, three miles to the 
south of Sharpsburg. 

During the Antietam battle, in 1862, some of the 
citizens took refuge in their cellars, some fled away 
into the interior of the countr}-, while others, to the 
number of about one hundred and fifty, took refuge in 
Killingsburg Cave, two miles west on the Chesapeake 
and Ohio Canal, on the Potomac River. 

The Antietam National Cemetery contains 4,690 
Union soldiers; of these, 2,860 are known, and 1,830 
are unknown. 



97 



THE FIELD OF GETTYSBURG AFTER THE 
BATTLE. 

Fought July i, 2, 3, 1863. 



CHAPTER II. 

The Battle of Gettysburg, though fought in Pennsyl- 
vania, and distant from the actual field of previous 
warfare, was the decisive blow which led to the triumph 
of the undivisible Union. General Meade reported a 
loss of dead, wounded and missing at 23,186, while 
General Lee lost at least 30,000, about one-third of 
his whole army. 

When the terrible battle was in progress the news 
of it filled me with an enthusiastic desire to be again 
at the front, and in the midst of the surgical work 
which my experience at Antietam had shown me was 
a very necessary adjunct to the success of our cause of 
right. On account of a death in the family it was 
impossible for me to leave immediately on hearing of 
the battle. 

Just as rapidly as the work could be accomplished 
I gathered together a quantity of hospital and sanitary 
stores, and in company with several others who 

98 



were likewise provided, and all acting under the 
Christian Commission, we shipped the stores to a point 
on the Pennsylvania Railroad a few miles south of 
Harrisburg, at Middletown, where large wagons were 
secured and the goods packed. A heavy storm had 
been raging all night, but in the early morning 
undauntedl)' we started to cross the Susquehanna 
River. Its waters were so swollen that we encoun- 
tered the possibility of being swept down the angry 
stream or of being wrecked upon some of the rocks 
along the opposite shore. One who has only seen the 
river in time of quiet and sunshine would scarce realize 
how turbulent and dangerous it becomes when the 
weather is storm}-. Notwithstanding, our flatboat car- 
ried us over safeh-, and Providence favored our project 
in gaining a safe landing on the southern shore, from 
vvhich we took the main road, known as the Harris- 
burg turnpike on the present map, southward to the 
now historic battle-field. The wagons were so laden 
with the goods that there was scarcely a foothold for 
the commissioners, so we, together with the drivers, 
walked nearly the whole distance to Gettysburg from 
our landing-place. 

Nearing the camps and hospitals, we proceeded with 
our needed freight on through the scene of the first 
day's fight, then through the town, passing over Ceme- 
tery Hill and through the scene of the second and third 
day's battle, then down along the Baltimore pike over 
Rock Creek and a small run until we reached White 

99 



Creek, the point at which three large hospitals were 
located, filled with thousands of the wounded and dying, 
who were suffering still more from the need of the very- 
goods and hospital stores with which we had been 
willingly supplied by the self-sacrificing and liberal- 
hearted citizens of Philadelphia. 

On the right-hand side of the road, looking south- 
ward, we found in a long line of woods, on a hill and 
hillside, at the foot of which a fine stream flowed, three 
thousand untented soldiers, including men of both 
armies, wounded, suffering and dying for the need of 
the surgical aid and provisions of the kind which we 
had brought. Here we halted and distributed as much 
of the goods as were necessary, and straightway sent 
some to another hospital contiguous to this on the 
same road, about one-eighth of a mile northward, 
Avhere there were estimated to be t\venty-fi\'e hundred 
more wounded men, and the remainder of the supplies 
were sent a quarter of a mile to the south, to an old 
barn hospital with about fifteen hundred, on the east 
side of the road ; the one I labored at was on the 
west. They required these stores equally as sadly as 
ours. Every house, barn and available building 
through this part of the country was filled with the 
wounded. Having distributed the stores in as diplo- 
matic a manner as possible, I returned to the first hos- 
pital to offer my services where they would be most 
available. Here I found a corps of ladies, several of 
whom were of my clientele in Philadelphia, who had 



come down to the battle-field to do what good they 
could for the poor afflicted soldiers. Samaritan-like, 
they had given up their own comfort for a time in order 
to help the wounded and dying. They announced my 
arrival to the surgeon in charge, telling him that I 
was a surgeon, and he immediately placed me in charge 
of a row of hospital tents, the occupants of which had 
all undergone the severe operation of amputation at 
the hip-joint or along the femur. I made a careful ex- 
amination of the general condition of the cases, in- 
structed the nurses and the hospital stewards what 
should be done in case of hemorrhage occurring, 
which in the larger vessels in that region of the 
body would cause rapid death in the event of the 
ligature giving way, and instructed them as to other 
emergencies, and then I proceeded to the chief sur- 
geon and asked if there were any additional duties 
that I could perform. My services were gladly ac- 
cepted, and for several days, in conjunction with these 
responsible cases in the tents, which were my special 
care, I spent my available time at the operating tables, 
which were situated in the woods on the crest of the 
slope which receded to White Creek ; the hospital tents 
were run in rows along avenues on the level area to 
the north. Every surgeon in the hospital was kept 
busy nearly a week amputating limbs, probing for and 
removing bullets, or sewing, bandaging and dressing the 
wounds of those who were too badly mangled and shat- 
tered to be aided in any more hopeful manner. Every 



hour the improvised operating tables were full, and many 
of the poor fellows had to be operated upon while lying 
upon the damp ground. We could not help it. Among 
the thousands, there were those who could not be 
allowed to wait until there was a vacant table. Worse 
than that, my heart grew sick when I saw men, some 
officers among them, feverish or bleeding or weak 
almost to death because there were not then surgeons 
enough to operate upon the vast multitude in time to 
save them all ere gangrene set in, for the regimental 
surgeons had to join their commands on the march. 
With no bed but the earth,no comfort but a blanket, little 
food and drink, a knapsack pillow, and no possible sur- 
gical care, except the daily temporary dressings, they 
died, and we could not help it! I have worked hard in 
my profession many a time, but thehorror of that scene 
I can never forget ! Nor the arduous labor of those days ! 
It exceeded all I have been called upon to perform 
before or since that fearful time. We toiled nearly all 
day and night, snatching a few hours for rest only 
when we became too much exhausted to continue and 
began again as soon as nature would permit us to 
feel equal to the necessity. In fact, only the power of 
will kept some of us at our post. And we were such 
a pitiable few among so many wounded! The com- 
pulsory use of the knife was sadly trying, but, oh, it 
was far worse to see the wounded who were awaiting 
their turn, burning with fever or wasting with 
gangrene, which came quickh^ in the hot, sultry days 



of that weary season. It was July, and even those in 
health became almost exhausted in the sultry heat, 
but worse followed. There came a shower which 
washed the battle-field soil and drained it into the 
stream at the outskirts of the woods, it overflowed 
and infected the spring from which we obtained 
water for drinking and cooking, and it was only a few 
hours until nearly every one in the camp was more or 
less affected with the dangerous poison. There 
appeared to be no help for it ! We must use it or 
suffer with thirst. No one can tell how many more of 
those on that fearful field might have lived — maimed 
or crippled, perhaps — if it had not been for that 
infectious water, which must have involved almost every 
stream and spring near by the late field of carnage. I 
refrained from drinking until it was impossible to do 
without it longer, then I drank tea or coffee made with 
the water, and even after boiling, it had the power to 
sicken me; but it was the poor patients tossing with 
fever and begging for water who were most to be pitied. 
We knew that there was danger in the draught, and we 
gave it sparingly. Even now, how vividly that row 
upon row of tents full of suffering humanity comes be- 
fore my mind, and how powerless I felt to do even a 
modicum of good among so many! 

I watched and toiled among that army of wounded, 
some from the flower of Lee's routed forces, some 
from among the noblest and best of the Northern 
troops, until I became so thoroughly sick and debili- 

103 



tated that I could work no longer ! With the deepest 
regret I was compelled to leave the hospital in the 
woods and start for home, so weak that I could but 
just crawl to an old hay wagon that was going to the 
town. The farmer lifted in my valise, then he helped 
me up into the springless vehicle, and jolted, bruised 
and shaken up he conveyed me to the railroad station, 
and after a tedious railroad trip b}- way of Baltimore I 
was enabled to reach home, where I suffered both ill- 
ness and weariness for weeks before I began to feel the 
least return of my usual vigor and elasticit}'. 

The services which it was my privilege to render 
after these two most hotly contested battle-fields of the 
whole war, Antietam and Gettysburg, I felt were my 
best offerings to those who had so bravely fought and 
fell for their country, and my reward has ever been 
the consciousness that I did the very best in my power 
to alleviate suffering, and to endeavor to restore those 
to whom it was possible that health should return. 

Now North and South are united in peace; there 
both were joined in the bonds of fearful suffering, and 
no man could be human and stop to think of the color 
of the uniform when he beheld the agon}' of those 
stricken men ! I had read of all the battles and had 
pictured to myself the most horrible scenes that could 
be conjured by imagination, but no written nor ex- 
pressed language could ever picture the field of 
Gettysburg ! Blood ! blood ! and tattered flesh ! shat- 
tered bones and mangled forms almost without the 

104 



semblance of human beings ! faces torn and bruised 
and lacerated until wife or mother could hardly have 
recognized one of them ! groans and cries ! screams 
and curses ! moans and grinding teeth ! And the 
horrible silence of torture beyond all expression ! I 
have traveled through many countries and my memory 
is filled with vividly lovely, glorious and magnificent 
pictures, but sometimes these crimson-framed pictures 
of the battle-fields of Antietam and Gettysburg return 
to me with such intense reality that all else for the 
time grows dim and almost fades away. Among 
landscapes of rarest beauty I beheld one where the 
merciful shade of the trees was the only covering for 
hundreds of wounded men. The sword was trodden 
into the earth and its color turned to crimson or black 
with the blood of that terrible sacrifice! The music of 
birds gave place to the voices of the injured and 
dying ! I live over again those weeks of sickening 
work, when the cut of the knife and the rasp of the 
saw seem to be grating upon my own overtaxed 
nerves. Oh, the horror! The misery! The terror 
of a battle ! Men standing brave and true, to be hewn 
down like grass before the scythe in an instant ! 
Gallant men facing the very cannon's mouth to be 
shattered into shapeless, breathing masses of broken 
bones and burned and torn flesh ! One moment 
smiling in the brilliant light of day — the next borne 
along the dark river or lying in the field trodden down, 
or perhaps carried to the rear to suffer untold agon)', 



possibly to die, or probably to be given back to life 
and home helpless cripj^les! 

Many times these scenes return to me in all their 
living, dreadful intensity, and I am fain to long that 
wars should cease forever ! I believe that my experi- 
ence enabled me always to be a more merciful and 
sympathetic follower of my profession than I might 
have been without such a schooling. A man with any 
tenderness in his general character could but feel his 
heart swell with pain at such evidences of mortal 
suffering and resolve to always aid in the most pitiful 
and merciful manner those who should ever call upon 
him for relief. So far from growing hardened by the 
frightful scenes, in my experience I think no one could 
become careless, though thousands lay around him ! 
I longed to aid them all and I felt willing to sacrifice 
time, money and health in their service ! I left that 
field because I could do no more, and I knew that, 
with my great prostration, I would not recover among 
such scenes. I was one of the millions whose very 
soul swelled with thankfulness when the war was over 
and peace reigned once more supreme ! 



GETTYSBURG RE-VISITED THIRTY-TWO 
YEARS AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Gettysburg, Pa., September 19, 1895. 
To have had an extended view of the field of Get- 
tysburg from the Round Tops a short time after the 

106 



great battle was fought, and then thirty-two years 
thereafter, with every point laid out and marked by 
the Government, by individual States, or such military 
organizations as the " Grand Army," so that the entire 
area of twenty-five square miles or more, occupied in 
that great contest, spreads out before one in a grand 
j^anorama on a clear, bright, sun-lit day, is certainly a 
notable event in one's lifetime. 

One who has worked in an army hospital soon after 
a battle, has many scenes impressed upon his memory 
which abide with him through life, and in the experi- 
ence of a professional career of many years there 
remain hundreds of events that occur in the narrow 
circle of his professional work that call up, time and 
again, those wonderfully vivid pictures of death and de- 
struction which the battle-field leaves upon his memory. 

First, I rode over the lines occupied by the Union 
and Confederate forces on the initial day's battle, July 
1st, taking in Seminary Ridge and the whole line oc- 
cupied by Earley's, Rhodes', Pender's and Heath's 
divisions of the Confederates, under Generals Ewell 
and A. P. Hill, and the whole under the generalship of 
General Robert E. Lee. His line extended, with its 
right, on the Hagerstown road, curving around by the 
Medicinal Spring, and across the Chambersburg pike, 
on to the Mummasburg road, then to the Carlisle road, 
and on to the Harrisburg pike and ending a little 
beyond this highway at the east side of Rock Creek. 

The Union lines, under General George G. Meade, 
107 



occupied a smaller area, to the east and south of the 
Confederate position, with a much less force to guard 
the points towards Gettysburg or on the Hagerstown 
road. The Union lines on the first day extended 
at angles across the Chambersburg pike from Hagers- 
town road, and then in another line, still nearer to 
Gettysburg, they ran to the Mummasburg road, 
across the Carlisle road to the Harrisburg turnpike, 
but not extending quite to Rock Creek. 

The result of the first day's contest (July ist), there- 
fore, was the driving back of the Union forces, on the 
evening of that day, beyond Gettysburg, from Semi- 
nary Hill south through the town to Cemetery Hill, 
where batteries were planted. The Confederate lines 
were advanced to the town of Gettysburg, with Rhodes' 
and Heath's divisions extending directly through the 
streets, while Earley's and Johnson's division com- 
pleted the left wing, extending far to the east across 
Rock Creek, beyond Gulp's Hill, while their right 
extended from Hagerstown road on to where Rhodes' 
division joined with Heath's, and Heath's with Pen- 
der's, and his with Anderson's on Seminary Hill, 
under the command of A. P. Hill. Still further south 
was Longstreet's command, under McLaws and Hood, 
while Pickett's and Wilcox divisions lay in front towards 
the Emmittsburg pike. 

This force mainly lay to the south and west of Get- 
tysburg. Longstreet's guard curved around so as to 
form almost a hook, into the ravine west of " Big 

loS 



Round Top," in what was known as the " Devil's 
Den." This Confederate line extended from the Ha- 
gerstown road southward, crossing the Emmittsburg 
pike about west of " Small Round Top." 

The Army of the Potomac extended irregularly 
within this area, the most important point being Cem- 
etery Hill and Gulp's Hill, and from thence to Rock 
Creek, being almost quite surrounded by the Rebel 
lines, except to the southeast and south, in the first day 
of those last conflicts. These lines changed as the battle 
progressed on the 2d and 3d of July. Kirkpatrick's 
cavalry, guarding our left, held the position, on the 
3d of July, from the Emmittsburg road across to the 
small stream or valley which wound partly around to 
the west of the taller Round Top. A very fine view 
of this whole field can be obtained from the look-out 
which is being erected on the top of the large Round 
Top Hill at this time. 

The reserve ammunition locality and General Meade's 
headquarters were situated quite in the centre of this 
line, the headquarters, at one time, being on the Taney- 
town road, not very far from Cemetery Hill, a position 
well fortified by our artillery and strongly supported 
by troops. The main position of the two armies was 
not very materially changed until the rout of the Con- 
federates on the third day. To study the map as laid 
down and note the various recently erected monuments 
marking the various sites occupied by the different 
corps and regiments during the battle, a correct study 



of the entire field can easily be made. Many of these 
markings and monuments are beautiful, mostly being 
cut out and made from the best of granite or colored 
marble, and they are very elaborate in design and 
expensive in workmanship. So thoroughly have these 
memorial monuments been placed and dotted over the 
fields, that to ride among them and over the various 
avenues already finished by the Government, and along 
the various roads where the armies marched or con- 
tended, and now take in this scene from an elevated 
point, is a picture, fascinating from the memories 
which it recalls, as well as heartrending from its 
hospital reminiscences. At present it is as grand in its 
autumn loveliness as could well be imagined. This 
was the culmination of my experience after riding over 
that wide, extended area known as the " Gettysburg 
Battle-Field." 

I was quite anxious to see again the old hospital 
location along White Creek, where three thousand 
wounded Union and Confederate soldiers where lying 
on the side of the hill, many of them waiting there to 
be operated upon for the removal of limbs which had 
been shattered by the various missiles in the terrible 
conflict. I rode out on the Baltimore turnpike beyond 
Cemetery Hill, beyond Rock Creek, and on to a small 
run, and not finding the locality, I was so much dis- 
appointed that I chided myself on having such a meagre 
" bump of localit}'," or cerebral convolution, as mine 
just then appeared to be. 



When I asked my guide, Mr. Gulp, if there was not 
some other stream of water in the immediate neigh- 
borhood, as this did not correspond at all with my 
recollections of the situation of the three hospitals which 
were located in close j^roximity, along the road, which 
I was then told was the Baltimore turnpike. I thought 
I had probably mistaken the situation, or possibly it 
was on the Taneytown road, or possibly even out on 
the Emmittsburg road ? When he said, " Yes, there 
is another stream a mile further on, crossing the Balti- 
more pike, but it is away off from the battle-field." Ah, 
yes, said I, there is where hospitals were placed, as 
far away from the noise of conflict as possible. Let 
us drive to that point and examine it, and should it 
not prove to be the exact spot, I should like to take the 
Emmittsburg road so as to be certain of finding the 
old place where I had labored so arduously thirty-two 
years before, and where my system broke down so 
completely that I was compelled to return home under 
the severe pressure of a violent cholera morbus. The 
danger of a rough ride in an old hay wagon to the rail- 
road station, about three miles away, was less hazardous 
and preferable to the risk of remaining in the neigh- 
borhood of six or seven thousand wounded men, at 
the battle-field, after a copious rainstorm, or in the 
wet forest in which the hospital was situated. All 
these conditions led me to adopt the plan of trying to 
reach home. Driving to White Creek, and crossing 
the bridge, I immediately recognized the former loca- 



tion of the three hospitals, which were located within 
about a quarter of a mile of each other, close to the 
stream. I said to Mr. Gulp, " that barn does not look 
like the old one used for one of those hospitals, but 
that is the location, for I well remember going ov^er to 
see some of my former patients and friends who were 
wounded and were going to be operated upon by the 
surgeon in charge of that hospital ;" when he informed 
me that the old barn had been burned down several 
years ago, and this new structure was erected on the 
site. The style being somewhat different from the old 
one I saw in 1863; this explanation satisfied me of 
the identity of the locality. Turning in along the 
stream, we drove off to the westward and crossed it 
again by fording, and continued up a farm lane to the 
crest of the hill. The stream and hill, with a few scat- 
tering trees thereon, I identified; "but," I said, "there 
was a thick forest running away back along this 
stream some distance into the country toward the 
Taneytown road." " Yes," he said, " there was quite 
an extensive woods all along here at that time, which 
has nearly all been cut away except a few scattered 
trees." This was the place where our hospital tents and 
operating tables were situated, and where the three 
thousand wounded men lay. I went along the crest 
of the hill among those scattered trees and numerous 
stumps, and recognized the flat area on the top of the 
hill where the rows of tents had been placed, and some 
of the depressions which had been made for the tent 



poles and posts were still visible. The hay and straw 
which we had used in the tents had enriched a 
growth of grass the following year, and, annually, 
this grass had gone on seeding, and springing up, and 
reproducing a crop from year to year, and the old 
tent lines and avenues are thus made visible or are 
marked out at the present day. 

I recognized also the position of the commissary 
and culinary departments, called to memory many 
friends I made, and the noble ladies who worked there 
in such a self-sacrificing manner, preparing meals and 
suitable dishes for the soldiers, I also recalled the hos- 
pital stewards and nurses who were constantly going 
and coming from this important culinary department 
to the hundreds of men under their nursing care, as 
I did, too, many of the wounded. My next object 
was to ascertain the situation of the operating tables 
where I spent so many wearisome and fatiguing hours, 
with my sleeves rolled up, and with copious drops of 
perspiration covering my brow, in the sweltering days 
of that fearful July; and taking the markings of the 
rows of tents as my guide, I speedily ascertained the 
exact location; and the depression in the ground which 
we made for the blood and water to run into, was even 
visible, while some two or three little elevated, mound- 
like spots indicated the places where we buried the 
many limbs which we were obliged to remove. If they 
had been struck by a minie-ball, it shattered the bone 
completely for inches around, and in order to save the 

"3 



life of the soldier and prevent gangrene, the limbs had 
to come off. I turned to see if I could not find some 
relic from this point to carry home, but nothing pre- 
sented itself save a young hickory tree which had 
sprung up from the root of an older tree close to the 
site of the operating table. I said, " Truly, this hickory 
growth will amply repay me as a trophy when turned 
into a cane." I set about with my stout penknife, 
which was exceedingly dull, to whittle away the root 
itself on either side of the little hickory sapling, and it 
was only after half an hour's whittling, with the blis- 
tering of my right hand, that I succeeded in bring- 
ing away enough for the handle of a cane, which I 
resolved should be my Gettysburg relic from the White 
Creek hospital, where I spent so much energy and so 
much sympathy in our cause. 

Satisfying myself with these identifications, I fol- 
lowed out the line of sod or grass to the present fence, 
and there I saw that the old road by which we had 
come in from the Baltimore pike in 1863 had been 
closed up and tilled over, but the cut-out at the pike 
well located its former position. I also recognized the 
former situation of the other hospital of tents alone, 
which had no building nearby. 

This situation was quite near the Baltimore road, 
and it was here the surgeons told me they had 2,500 
men under their care. Those of the barn hospital, 
across the turnpike, had informed me that they had 
about 1,500, so that, with the 3,000 in the hospital in 

114 



which I worked, in that small area alone there were 
about 7,000 wounded men, while off to the west and 
northeast were many hospitals which I had no time 
or disposition to visit. As I came away I walked 
down along the side of the hill where so many of the 
wounded men were then lying under the shade of the 
trees awaiting operation ; many of these were Con- 
federates. All along the side of this hill for a long 
distance, from the operating tables down to the White 
Creek itself, there arose again in my memory the 
harrowing scenes which I encountered here among 
the suffering and dying, the moaning and the dead, 
for every hour or two several of those men passed into 
eternity. 

Officers and men were lying there, pleading to be 
operated upon, and yet we were doing everything 
that humanity could do to reach and relieve them as 
rapidly as possible. Day after day as I walked along 
those lines of wounded men my heart was touched 
with sympathy, and I felt the injunction placed upon 
me when I entered the medical profession, of "cure 
the sick, relieve the suffering, wherever and when- 
ever you can," come up forcibly to my mind so many 
times that I fully realized that to be a physician, 
with this strict requirement placed upon me at my 
graduation, made it a noble calling, and one in which 
war and its terrors strained to the utmost tension the 
strong chords of the human heart in the direction of 
relieving mankind of suffering and assuaging the 



torment of pain and anguish. So strongly were 
these chords of sympathy drawn upon on that occa- 
sion, and on that of Antietam, that I never read of a 
battle, or of a serious conflict in which is mentioned 
the wounded, the dead, or the missing, but what 
they vibrate through my whole nature, and send 
out a sympathetic feeling of pity in their behalf To 
see a hospital, after a battle, always mollifies one's 
human nature in behalf of each and every suffering 
individual, in the compassionate physician, through- 
out all his after-life. 

The Field of Gettysburg, with the National Cemetery, 
will forever remain to us a hallowed symbol of the 
price paid for the complete restoration of the Union — 
of the Republic, from which no single one of the noble 
galaxy of stars could be spared without defacing for 
all time its wonderful symmetry. 

Standing upon the highest point and surveying this 
field with its hundreds of monuments, the remembrance 
of the thousands of brave men who lie in a long, peace- 
ful sleep after their fierce and bitter conflict with those 
who, for a little time, thought a divided country could 
stand, made one feel that each citizen of the United 
States should ever so direct his life and influence as 
to aid in securing for all future time the peace and 
prosperity of our common countr}\ 

As each individual, general or private, who lies here 
so quietl)' after the furious din of battle, gave his life 
a sacrifice for the integrit}- of the Government, so should 

ii6 



those who Hve to enjoy the victory, which they so 
dearly won, forever be true and loyal members of a 
peace-loving community, no one man or woman sup- 
posing that his or her influence is too insignificant to be 
disregarded. Of the 3,575 faithful soldiers who repose 
in the beautiful National Cemetery, there would have 
been none, if each one considered himself a unit, too 
unimportant to answer when the call for volunteers 
rang throughout the length and breadth of the startled 
land. 

The sum of money expended in the purchase and 
ornamentation of this battle-field tract is but a slight 

o 

tribute to the memory of those noble men ; and where- 
ever the great battles for the Union were fought, there 
should be lasting monuments erected to demonstrate 
to future generations the value at which their native 
land was held by thousands upon thousands of the 
bravest and best, who gave up every other object in 
life when their country was in peril. 

Some of the monuments are particularly imposing, 
while others in their very modesty tell their pathetic 
tale with striking vividness. Here is a simple slab 
marking the place where Col. Fred Taylor fell as he 
was leading his regiment against the foe at Round Top. 
Between Little Round Top and the wheat field a plain 
shaft marks the spot where General Zook was slain, 
while he and his brother officers were charging their 
advancing enemy under Anderson and Kershaw. 

There is the tablet that tells where batteries of artil- 
117 



lery held possession of Cemetery Hill. The 72d 
Pennsylvania Infantry display a neat tablet at " High 
Water Mark," so called because the most terrible of 
all battles was fought on this spot. Several Army 
Posts have their beautiful insignia carved upon the 
stones which mark the places at which officers and 
privates fought as equals against a common foe. 

And so we may pass on, from the simple, nameless 
headstones which guard the resting-places of i,6o8 
" unknown," to the magnificent monument which in- 
cludes all in its grand memorial. It is a lofty fabric 
of Westerly granite, measuring sixty feet in height. 
It is surmounted by a graceful female figure holding 
a wreath in one hand. At each corner of the base are 
statues of beautiful proportions. "War" is an in- 
fantryman in overcoat and fatigue cap, sitting with his 
rifle resting against his knee. " History," with an 
earnest expression in her gentle face, looks o\'er the 
battle-field, a pen in one hand and a book held upon 
her knee, ready to record all upon which her eyes are 
dwelling in solemn retrospect. " Peace " is a sturdy 
machinist resting awhile from his toil, and " Plenty," 
another female iigure of peculiar grace and beauty, 
seems to look beyond the silent cemetery into the 
prosperous and beautiful land — even far off into the 
richly laden future. The whole monument is grandly 
imposing. 

A fine statue of General Reynolds stands at the en- 
trance of the cemetery. It is cast from cannons used 

nS 



upon the field, and donated for the purpose by Pennsyl- 
vania. The General was killed on July i, 1863, by a 
rifle-ball, which pierced through his head, while he was 
riding in front of his division for the purpose of exam- 
ining the position on Oak Ridge. 

One of the many monuments worthy of attention is 
that of the 2d Massachusetts Regiment, situated near 
Spangler's Spring, at which both Union men and Con- 
federates obtained drinking water during the night 
before the battle. It is a beautiful tablet, bearing a 
fine inscription, and it was the first memorial erected 
at Gettysburg, being placed there by the survivors, in 
1879. 

On the Emmittsburg road stands the ist Massa- 
chusetts Infantry monument, a particularly imposing 
structure of solid granite cut to resemble a rugged 
rock with a diamond-shaped tablet sunk into its sum- 
mit, upon the polished face of which the carving 
represents an infantryman standing alert, ready to 
aim and fire at command. The figure is very life-like 
in pose ; the bars of the fence near which he is stand- 
ing are down as if to permit him to spring forward 
quickly at the order to "charge!" or possibly he is 
on lonely picket duty, ready to announce the presence 
of the enemy with the sharp crack of his trusty gun. 

A very attractive monument stands upon Gulp's 
Hill, in memoriam of the 123d New York Infantry. 
It is a granite shaft having upon its face the coat-of- 
arms of New York and a five-point star, the mark of 

119 



Slocum's corps; and a magnificent statue of" History" 
in the act of writing upon a tablet resting upon her 
lap. 

On South Hancock Avenue stands a grand Corin- 
thian column bearing a statue of General Stannard, 
commemorating the action of the Vermont Brigade in 
the three days' fight. 

The 15th New York Battery displays a very unique 
and handsome monument, which stands on the slop- 
ing side of Seminary Hill. It is a solid block of 
granite, bearing in relief the figure of a gunner, with 
a rammer in his hand, leaning upon the wheel of a 
cannon, with other implements lying at his feet. The 
great tablet also bears upon its face the New York 
coat-of-arms made of bronze. The gunner's position 
is as one who is ready for immediate action, the face 
half sad in its earnest expression. 

The 153d Pennsylvania Infantry have planted upon 
Barlow's Knoll a stone pedestal, upon which a bronze 
bugler stands in the act of sounding his clear, loud 
call. The effect of this monument is extremely touch- 
ing, reminding one of the bugle-call which is sounded 
when a soldier is laid to rest. The echoing cry seems 
to have just been sent through that city of the dead, 
and the breathless silence is no less sad that it is the 
only answer that can be expected. One almost pauses 
to hear the parting volley break the solemn stillness. 

The 13th Massachusetts Infantry's monument on 
Seminary Ridge is a life-size color-bearer, standing 



with the flag grasped in his hand, its folds drooping 
gracefully downward. 

The Sickles Excelsior Brigade have erected a strik- 
ingly handsome memorial with beautiful Corinthian 
pillars, surmounted by a large eagle with outspread 
wings. The marble of the pillars and capping throws 
the great bronze bird into noble relief 

In the grove opposite the " Loop," a life-size 
infantryman is in the act of making a bayonet charge. 
This was placed in memory of the 145th Pennsylvania 
Infantry, and it is very fine. 

On the Chambersburg Avenue the 149th Penns)'l- 
vania Infantry displays a bronze infantryman standing 
at rest. It is a peculiarly natural-looking figure, 

A high tower-like shaft of parti-colored granite 
represents the ist New Jersey Brigade on Sedgwick 
Avenue. It is very attractive, being noticeable for a 
considerable distance. 

The 15th and 50th Engineer Corps are perpetuated 
in a rather peculiar monument, resembling a grand 
castle gate in several shades of stone. 

Perhaps there is no more touching monument than 
the one standing at the foot of the chapel stairs on 
Chambersburg Street. It is simply a lecturn holding 
an open book ; but it tells that just at that spot Chap 
lain Howell, of the 7th New Jersey Infantry, was 
slain. 

And the one which fairly makes the heart of the 
visitor bound for an instant, unless he has been pre- 



pared for the .sight, is the colossal figure of General 
Warren. The whole figure is in bronze ; it stands upon 
Signal Rock at Little Round Top, and it represents 
the General as he stood taking observations of the 
field when he was killed. The attitude and expression 
are so perfectly natural that when the statue first im- 
presses the vision it is for an instant mistaken for a 
living man gazing earnestly across the valley. 

The 14th Brookl)n Regiment has its name immor- 
talized in a noble monument standing upon Seminary 
Hill. It is a shaft of granite surmounted by an in- 
fantry soldier in the act of taking a cartridge from his 
box. 

The 78th and I02d New York Regiments have a 
very life-like figure of an infantryman in the act of 
firing from behind a stone barricade. And the 40th 
Regiment of New York has wrought, in the same im- 
perishable stone as that from which so many of the me- 
morials are made, a rock-like point, the coat-of-arms ot 
the State on its side, the diamond corps-mark in front 
and an apparently disabled soldier resting against it. 
Notwithstanding his wound he holds his rifle ready to 
fire, and his eyes seem to scan the field \'ery earnestly. 

Pennsylvania has added to her list of grand monu- 
ments recently by the addition of one of General Han- 
cock, which is set upon East Cemetery Hill. It is 
said to be a fine likeness of the General. This was 
placed in position on October 11, 1895. A statue of 
the commander of the whole Union force at Gettys- 



burg, General George G. Meade, is awaiting the com- 
pletion of the foundation, which has been slightly 
delayed in being put in place. 

On October 15, 1895, the 143d Pennsylvania Vol- 
unteers dedicated their splendid granite monument, 
which is located on the position which the regiment 
held on the left of the fateful bloody angle. 

The impossibilit}' of furnishing even a list of the 
many beautiful monuments, tablets and markers, can 
be realized when we quote that in 1892 the number 
was, from 

Connecticut lo 

Delaware 8 

Illinois II 

Maine 22 

Maryland 8 

Michigan 11 

Massachusetts 30 

Minnesota 2 

New Hampshire 5 

New Jersey 14 

New York 122 

Ohio 25 

Pennsylvania 119 

Rhode Island 5 

West Virginia 4 

Vermont 9 

Wisconsin 11 

Miscellaneous 25 

441 

Each year has added more, until now the number 
exceeds five hundred, making this the finest memo- 
rial field in the world. !Many are but modest tablets, 



which will some day be supplanted by monuments, 
but even now the magnificent arra}^ of substantial and 
beautiful statuary, columns and graceful shafts is a 
sight never to be forgotten. 

Many yeas have flown since the burden of dreadful 
warfare was lifted. Years of prosperit}', of local ad- . 
versity, of days sometimes darkened by doubts and 
fears, for the permanent blessing of peace ; but through 
all the clear light shines, and an era is now dawning 
in which a more perfect union will be consummated 
than was ever before experienced. 

Once North and South were strangers contending 
for the right, as understood by each, and the precious 
lives that were immolated must forever sadden the 
thoughts of one who gazes upon those beautiful resting- 
places. But even to-day the Old Liberty Bell is hailed 
with joyous shouts by many who probably for the first 
time feel the soul-stirring patriotism which its silenced 
tongue awakens. 

To-day the harbinger of Liberty makes an honored 
journey through Georgia, and its presence, old, time- 
stained and cracked, telling of the one hundred and 
nineteen years that have rolled away since the United 
Colonies became independent, must cement forever the 
peace so dearly won. 



124 



BIRD'S-EYE VIP:W OF THE CAUSES AND 
PROGRESS OF THE AMERICAN 
REVOLUTION. 



CHAPTER III. 

The history of the origin of the American Revolu- 
tion and the results connected therewith, briefly stated, 
will be the object of this chapter. 

The settlement of the colonies by different nations 
necessarily led each one that maintained a large navy 
to take a deep interest in the welfare of all of the settle- 
ments established by its own people in the then dis- 
tant and foreign land of America. This interest was 
maintained throughout the many years that elapsed 
before the independence of the colonies was declared 
and the new government established. 

The formation of new nationalities in the earlier 
da}S was quite common. At the present time, how- 
ever, the ruling powers do not allow of much territory 
being acquired by any nation that enters into naval or 
military conflict with another, or overruns large terri- 
tories of the conquered government. Such is the 
modern situation. But readers of history well know 
the events of centuries ago, when Spanish conquests 

125 



were numerous, when England extended her territory- 
over a hirge area of the earth's surface, while France and 
Germany likewise were looking out for their interests 
in different parts of the world by the acquirement 
of territorial areas. Africa seems to have been in the 
meantime a forgotten country, and the attention of the 
civilized world became centered largely upon the west- 
ern continent and the diversified events that occurred 
therein. Hence, I deem them worthy of a brief summary. 
The British Colonies were originally under the 
control of the English commission known as the 
" Lords of Trade." To this body the various provin- 
ces presented their grievances and received direction 
for their action in the different affairs which interested 
both the colonies and the mother country. It was not 
so much through the management by the " Lords of 
Trade " as it was through the head of the government 
itself — the King — whose views, of course, had to be 
carried out by this organization, that contentions orig- 
inated. The grievances naturally arose from the set- 
tlements of cases which were made by this organiza- 
tion, which, as far as possible, aimed to satisfy the 
complainants. But the action of Parliament, and this 
ruled largely by the views of the King back of it, led 
to frequent dissatisfaction in the management of the 
colonies. Principal among these may be mentioned 
the matter of the governors' salaries and the method 
in which they were to be paid ; the colonies in most 
instances claiming that they had a right to attend to 

126 



this matter themselves, while the English Government 
claimed the right of entire control over this and simi- 
lar disbursements. 

The people of the colonies gloried in their relation- 
ship to England, and their title to be called English- 
men was held with greater esteem than probably in 
England itself. The great freedom of assembling 
together in town meetings and discussing, either pTO 
or coil, the action of the mother country, became 
a source of great trial not only to the King and his 
ruling agents, but even among the British people, for 
there was a diversity of opinion as to the right to 
hold such meetings, which they said gave rise to tur- 
bulence and dissension and, sometimes, to riot. 

Then again, the writ of habeas corpus would often 
be abridged or suspended entirely by the *' Lords of 
Trade," and even the freedom of the press was greatly 
restricted. 

In New Hampshire first, the people maintained the 
privilege of choosing their own representatives, but 
the Governor himself held that it was his right to 
grant such privilege, and election writs were granted 
to some towns, and in other places withheld. But 
eventually the "Lords of Trade" were obliged to 
yield to this colony the right it claimed in this matter. 

The salary subject was a source of contention for 
thirty years in Massachusetts, whether the Crown 
should pay a fixed salary, or whether the colonists 
should make grants annually to them. In New York 

127 



and South Carolina similar contentions were going 
on. Virginia went so far on several occasions as to 
refuse to pass the requisite appropriation. From such 
ev^ents a want of harmony began to arise between 
England and her colonies — the former beginning to 
regard the latter as law-breakers and reckless in their 
regard for the home government and loyalty. 

England's difficulties with France, in regard to 
ownership in this American territory, having been 
settled, the mother country felt that she was enabled to 
dictate terms to the colonies, as she desired, and the 
American people would be obliged to carry out in their 
local governments what the King and Parliament 
wished in such matters. 

In 1664, the idea was broached by Francis Bernard, 
Governor of Massachusetts, that the colonies should 
be so consolidated that natural boundaries should be 
taken as divisions and not imaginary lines, so that, by 
establishing a single form of government for the re- 
duced number of colonies, changes from their present 
liberal ideas could be better controlled. 

In 1 701, Robert Livingstone, of New York, made 
such a suggestion, and in 1752 the Governor of Vir- 
ginia suggested the formation of two Confederate 
orcfanizations, to be known as the Northern and South- 
ern Colonies. American statesmen themselves felt 
that some such measure was desirable, not only from 
an economic standpoint, but also from a military one, 
in order that such operations might be the more thor- 

12S 



oughly controlled and concentrated when occasion 
required the use of this branch of the government. 
While doing this, they had no idea of giving up local 
self-gov^ernment in any colony, and its accomplish- 
ment was probably hindered largely by the commercial 
relations which existed at that time. The merchants 
in the different cities in the several colonies all felt 
themselves to belong to a sort of foreign, independent 
community, claiming the right to deal with other col- 
onies more as foreigners, and as they would with other 
countries. The jealousies hereby engendered in com- 
mercial interests were no doubt a very great barrier to 
the accomplishment of the idea of union of e\en two 
condensed governments. Even Georgia and South 
Carolina actually came to a contest in 1776 over the 
navigation of the Savannah River. 

Looking at the events which terminated in the Union, 
we may refer to the call of the royal governors in 
1754, at Albany, of a congress composed of delegates 
from all the colonies. The imminent fear of a war 
between England and France aided this idea, in order 
that they might get control of the Alliance of the Six 
Nations of Indians, and it was hoped that this assem- 
blage of delegates would adopt some plan of union to 
which all of the colonies would agree. Seven colonies 
out of the thirteen sent delegates ; the people them- 
selves took little or no interest in the matter, and there 
was but one strong advocate among the newspapers of 
the country, and that was Benjamin Franklin's paper, 

129 



called the Pennsylvania Gazette, which, in a forcible 
article, put out the motto " Unite or die." 

Benjamin Franklin's plan was that a Federal Council 
should be held once a year in Philadelphia — the As- 
sembly of each colony to elect three representatives to 
serve for the term of three years. This council was to 
select its presiding officer, and its sessions were not to 
exceed six weeks, unless by its own vote or an order 
from the Crown. This Grand Council, as it was to be 
called, was to have the privilege of dealing with the 
Indians and making a suitable treaty with them, and 
in general colonial matters to have entire legislative 
control, so that the several officers could be proposed, 
forts could be erected, taxes could be collected, and 
even soldiers could be enlisted. Its enactments were 
to have the approval of the King, who had the priv- 
ilege of veto, provided he exercised the same within 
three years. Each colony was to retain its own legis- 
lative power. It could defend itself against foreign 
invasion, but the consent of the legislature must be had 
when soldiers and seamen were taken into the service, 
provided the Federal Government should not impress 
them. 

Another provision of this suggestion was that the 
executive power was to be held by a President or Gov- 
ernor General, whose salary should be paid by the 
Crown, and whose appointment was dependent upon 
the Crown, and he was to have a veto power over the 
acts of the Grand Council. The people, however, were 

130 



not ready for such a measure, but the Assembly event- 
ually adopted the plan, and copies were sent to all the 
colonies for their approval, which it did not meet with 
in any of them. Pennsylvania rejected it immediately; 
Massachusetts gave it a careful consideration ; while it 
quite exasperated the " Lords of Trade." This would 
naturally be expected, inasmuch as they were even 
then considering the idea of establishing a standing 
army, levying the imposition of taxes, and carrying 
out strictly the navigation enactments. 

Two years later we find Shirley, who was opposed 
to Franklin's plan, urging a colonial union, in order to 
better meet the French encroachments in America. 
He further advocated the raising of a war fund and a 
stamp duty. The importance of this suggestion may 
be seen from the fact that he was Commander-in-chief 
of all the English troops in America, and had been for 
fifteen years Governor of Massachusetts, so that his 
suggestions would naturally favorably impress the 
British Parliament and officials there with the idea of 
the taxation of America. This matter, however, lay 
dormant until 1761, when the Superior Court was 
applied to for a writ of assistance in order to carry out 
the requirements of the Navigation Act. This w'ould 
permit British officials to search everywhere for smug- 
gled goods of all kinds, regardless of whether the 
houses were private or public property. This right to 
enter the homes of any and all citizens, James Otis saw 
was very subversive and unconstitutional according to 



the understood customs of the British law. Chief 
Justice Hutchinson, howev^er, granted the writs. Otis 
argued that the Americans were not compelled to 
carry out laws that they had no representation in 
framing, and his strong and elaborate arguments made 
such a deep impression at the time that John Fiske, in 
his able and instructive book, "The American Revolu- 
tion," claims that it was the opening scene of the 
Revolution. 

Then came the question of the privilege of the as- 
semblage of the colonies, and their right to remove 
their Chief Justice, if necessary, by their own vote; but 
a measure was adopted by the King and his govern- 
ment that he should be removed only by the Crown ; 
and although the New York Assembly, where the 
matter originally came up, refused to fix the salary of 
the Chief Justice, King George determined that it 
should be paid out of the public land quit-rents. 

The next year the Governor of New Jersey was dis- 
missed for issuing a judge's commission, to last during 
his good behavior. 

In 1762, another test question came up in Massa- 
chusetts. Governor Bernard had incurred the expense 
of about four hundred pounds sterling, sending two 
ships for fishery protection against French privateers 
to the north, and the Assembly of Massachusetts was 
ordered to pay the bill, which it declined to do. 

George the Third had ascended the throne in 1760. 
Three years later, in April, Lord Granville was made 



Prime Minister, and the celebrated Charles Tovvnshend 
was placed at the head of the " Lords of Trade." The 
latter held views, that the colonies should not have 
self-government ; that an English army should be 
kept in the colonies by means of taxes upon the 
citizens of the same. While not approving of such 
extreme measures just at that time, he thought, how- 
ever, that a tax ought to be laid in order to help pay 
for the French war. 

Benjamin Franklin opposed this proposition. In 
March, 1764, Lord Granville introduced his Parlia- 
mentary Declaratory Resohes in regard to stamping 
all legal documents — these to vary from three pence 
to ten pounds. The enactment was not to go into 
effect for one year. The Americans, however, could 
not see anything but injustice in these " Resolves." 
In May of the same year, the celebrated resolutions of 
Samuel Adams, of Massachusetts, were offered, deny- 
ing the right of Parliament to assess such a tax upon 
the colonists unless they were consulted in regard to 
it, or were represented in the home government. 
The Assembly of Massachusetts about the same time 
sent out a circular letter to the other colonies urging 
united action in regard to this act of Great Britain. 
Virginia, South Carolina, New York, Connecticut and 
Pennsylvania joined in the conference, their principal 
thought being that the House of Commons had no 
right to tax a freeborn Englishman who had no repre- 
sentation therein. 

133 



Benjamin Franklin, as Pennsylvania's agent, went 
over in person to London. These memorials had no 
effect. In 1 765 the Stamp Act was passed. Patrick 
Henry, in Virginia, about this time, in defending a case 
under the Tobacco Act, had, in his address before the 
jury, stated that Virginia had the right to make her 
own laws. He was chosen to represent the people in 
the Colonial Assembly the same year. Soon after 
taking his seat, the Stamp Act measure was announced 
as having been passed in England. He submitted 
resolutions in which he claimed the right of the colo- 
nists to be taxed by themselves only, or by persons 
chosen by themselves to represent them, and claimed 
the right of the people to disregard such an arbitrary 
act as that of the mother country. 

Governor Fauquier dissolved the Assembly before 
they had finished voting upon Henry's resolutions. 

About the same time in Massachusetts the Legisla- 
ture, at the urgent request of Otis, sent a call to the 
various Assemblies, asking for concerted action to 
resist this odious law, and that a Congress of all the 
colonies should be called to consider the matter. It 
met on the 7th of October in New York, nine colonies 
being represented, various causes preventing the other 
colonies from sending delegates. 

In Virginia, the Governor prevented the convening 
of the Assembly in time to send delegates. But to 
show their unity of spirit, the Assemblies of all the 
colonies concurred in the action of this Stamp Act 

134 



Congress. In Massachusetts, Samuel Adams, who 
had just been elected to the Assembly, drew up very- 
forcible resolutions against the Stamp Act. Soon after 
came the organization of secret societies, such as the 
Sons of Libert}'," pledged to thorough resistance of 
the Act. The effigy of Oliver, the Stamp Act officer, 
was hung from an elm tree in Boston, and a few days 
afterwards Chief Justice Hutchinson's splendid man- 
sion was entered and his valuable library destroyed 
and his costly plate thrown into the street; and yet he 
had used his best endeavor to prevent the passage of 
the Act, although as an English official, after its pass- 
age he had to uphold it. But rioters are not always 
judicious in carrying out their objects; nevertheless, it 
gave the expression of the feeling of the people with 
regard to this measure; so much so that almost all the 
Stamp officers in the colonies were forced by the pre- 
carious surrounding circumstances to resign. Stamps 
that had arrived were burned or thrown into the 
ocean. Commercial men decided not to import any 
more English goods. Such was the outcome of the 
agitation of this measure on both sides of the Atlantic 
that the elder Pitt strongly advocated the rights of the 
colonists, and denounced what Grenville had carried 
through Parliament, and urged the instant repeal of 
the Act. The Act was repealed, but the Declaratory 
Act was passed, holding the view that Parliament had 
the right in all cases to make laws which the colonists 
were bound to obey. 



In July, 1765, Pitt was placed at the head of the 
ministry, but was too ill to assume its duties. The 
Duke of Grafton, under Pitt's fjuidance, took charg-e 
of the office. 

In 1767, Charles Townshend introduced other bills 
for American taxation, and Chatham urged his imme- 
diate dismissal. Lord North was suggested for the 
place, but declining, Townshend was retained in the 
Cabinet, and the new tax bill was eventually adopted. 
There was a peculiar situation involved in this matter. 
If the principle of taxation without representation 
were to be given up in America, what would become 
of the other part of the vast English Empire by the 
adoption of such a policy ? There were only two 
roads out of the difficult}\ One was to allow repre- 
sentation in Parliament of the American colonies, or 
else the American people were to be allowed the 
privilege of levying their own taxes in their own as- 
semblies. These were the American requisites. 

Benjamin P'ranklin and James Otis even, favorably 
considered the first method. The measures were not 
originated by King George III, but by Townshend 
himself. Nevertheless, the King adopted them and 
eventually maintained them to the last, notwithstand- 
ing Townshend died at the age of forty-one, less than 
three months from the time of the adoption of his 
measures. 

This terminated in the great American crisis. Lord 
North succeeded Townshend in the Plxchequer. 

136 



Under his ministry strong opposition was maintained 
to the American claims. The colonist, John Dickin- 
son, in his " Farmer's Letters," took Burke's position, 
and even ventured the thought that resistance by force 
might be the outcome. Samuel Adams wrote a cir- 
cular letter to the Colonial Assemblies, taking the 
ground that it was impracticable to obtain proper 
representation in the English Parliament, and that the 
Colonial Assemblies alone had the right to levy taxes 
upon their own people, arguing that the Townshend 
clause, being unconstitutional, should be repealed. 
These views went to the King in the form of a peti- 
tion, without effect, except probably to enrage the 
monarch still more. 

Lord Hillsborough ordered the Assembly to res- 
cind his circular letter, and in case they refused, the 
Assembly should be disbanded. He also directed the 
other Colonial Assemblies to disregard the Massachu- 
setts circular under the same penalty. Townshend 
had the previous year suspended the New York As- 
sembly by Parliamentary Act, and now all of the 
assemblies were threatened by the Secretary of State. 
When these orders were received in the Massachusetts 
Assembly they were derided, and James Otis remarked : 
"We are asked to rescind. Let Britain rescind her 
measure, or the colonies are lost to her forever." 

The Assembly decided not to rescind, whereupon 
Bernard compelled the Assembly to disband. Such 
was the beginning of the crisis, which led directly up 

^37 



to the determination that redress was impossible, and 
the idea of the independence of the colonies was in- 
augurated. This measure on the part of the colonies 
seemed to be imperative, inasmuch as a British army 
was on its way to compel obedience to the measures 
which the Government had passed. 

The determination which Samuel Adams claimed 
was the only rightful course for the colonies to adopt, 
was to declare themselves entirely independent of the 
mother country, and to ally themselves together into a 
permanent union, and to ascertain whether allies could 
not be obtained to support such a resolve. This idea 
of Adams had not yet taken deep root in the Ameri- 
can colonies nor among their great men; and e\en 
Washington, when he assumed the command of the 
American Army at Cambridge on July 2, 1775, did 
not believe the war was one for entire colonial inde- 
pendence. The same year Thomas Jefferson claimed 
that the armies had not been collected together for the 
purpose of establishing an independence from the 
mother country, and the Declaration of Independence 
was only adopted after much difficulty and after a very 
great deal of argumentative debate. All felt that they 
were English subjects and had been badly treated; 
nevertheless, they had not intended to declare them- 
selves entirely free from the parental authorit}-. 

Then came the effort to arrest Samuel Adams and 
John Hancock, who were on their way to the Second 
Continental Congress, and have them sent to England 

1^,8 



for trial for their seditious and rebellious acts and sug- 
gestions. Learning of the action to be taken, they 
left Boston and were housed for the night at Lexing- 
ton, Then came the evening signal of two lights 
from a belfry-window of the Old North Church in- 
Boston, giving warning to Paul Revere that the British 
were preparing to advance to Concord, starting by 
water ; then his famous ride to Medford and to Lex- 
ington, giving them warning in ample time, and their 
escape towards Philadelphia before the arrival of the 
English forces. They escaped to Woburn that night. 

April 19, 1775, the Lexington attack occurred, and 
the firing upon the colonial militia, killing eight and 
wounding ten. This was the overt act which filled 
the hearts of the American colonists to the open stand 
of resistance and defiance by force of arms. The 
Concord resistance, Lexington, Breed's and Bunker's 
Hill, and other contests of that year followed in the 
order of sequence. 

The environment of Boston with 16,000 provincial 
troops, now occupied by the British, the declaration of 
independence by South Carolina, the seizure of Ticon- 
deroga and Crown Point by American militia, were 
events that followed quickly. England, becoming 
better apprised of the situation, reinforced General 
Gage by a large number of troops under Generals 
Howe, Sir Henry Clinton and Burgoyne. 

The Second Continental Congress was held at Phila- 
delphia during the summer of this year. 



At the battle of Breed's Hill the American troops 
entrenched, were assaulted by the British forces twice 
ineffectually, but the third time, owing to the want of 
ammunition on the part of the Continenal army, the 
British were successful, and the English forces drove 
back the Americans from their position and held 
possession of Boston for nine months longer. General 
Joseph Warren lost his life in this engagement. 

Matters had proceeded so far by this time that it 
seemed important to the Congress that it should take 
charge of all the forces. Accordingly, General 
Washington was appointed commander-in-chief He 
formally took command of the Colonial arm}% Ji-ily 3- 
1775, under an old elm tree which is still standing and 
well cared for in Cambridge, Mass. He immediately 
organized the army and prepared it for the coming 
campaign. 

The possession of Ticonderoga and Crown Point 
had opened the way into the province of Canada, and 
a plan was adopted for sending 3,000 troops from 
New England and New York, with Generals Schuyler 
and Montgomery in command, and passing up Lake 
Champlain, attacking the first British post in Canada, 
at St. John's, at the head of the lake and a short dis- 
tance from Montreal. General Schuyler being taken 
ill. General Montgomer)^ assumed command and pre- 
pared to attack Montreal, beginning at St. John's ; 
but the siege was difficult on account of his want of 
ammunition. He did, however, capture Eort Cham- 

140 



blay, a few miles north of this point, and thus secured 
a good amount of ammunition and several cannon. 

Ethan Allen, who was also engaged, offered to 
capture Montreal with one hundred and fifty picked 
men at night. 

He was permitted to make the effort, but he only 
had eighty men. He was met by British troops and 
defeated, taken prisoner and sent to England. St. 
John's subsequently surrendered unconditionally. 
Generals Montgomery and Arnold afterwards made 
an attack upon Quebec, which was unsuccessful, and 
a goodly number of their troops were made prisoners 
of war. General Montgomery being killed. General 
Thomas was appointed to succeed him, and he with 
General Arnold was obliged to retreat from post to 
post, and finally to evacuate Canada altogether. 

Further South, however, the embers of war were 
fanning into a blaze. The Governor of Virginia, 
Lord Dinwiddle, by imprudent language in some of 
his letters, aroused the indignation of that colony. 
They formed a Proxincial Congress and began to arm 
the people. The Governor then removed the battery of 
the magazine at Williamsburg to an English war vessel 
in the night. This so enraged the people, when they 
ascertained the fact in the morning, that they demanded 
its immediate return, which he refused. 

Patrick Henry determined upon peremptory meas- 
ures for its restitution, and called for volunteers, and 
by his eloquence soon had a company that was placed 

i4> 



under the command of Captain Meredith. They de- 
manded the return of the battery or its equivalent in 
money. Meredith resigning, Patrick Henry himself 
took command of the company, and began his march 
towards Williamsburg. He was so popular that 5,000 
people swarmed to his assistance before he reached 
that point. Governor Dunmore, the then chief official, 
took refuge upon an English war vessel, and became 
so alarmed that he caused the battery to be paid for. 
He eventually abdicated and again went on board the 
" Fowley " and endeavored from time to time to make 
attacks on different points from this man-of-war, which 
only incensed the people the more. He then offered 
freedom to the slaves if they would join him. By this 
means he obtained possession of the seaport of Nor- 
folk. The provincial troops dislodged him and drove 
him back on board the same vessel. 

The English frigate, "Liverpool," arriving. Dun- 
more demanded that provisions should be sent, and 
that the troops should stop firing, or the town would 
be bombarded. The people declined, and a severe 
bombardment of Norfolk took place. Some of the 
marines landed and set fire to some of the houses, 
which were entirely destroyed. This, of course, did 
not subdue the Virginians, but only tended to increase 
their loyalty and adhesion to their rights. Congress 
adopted measures for carrying on a vigorous warfare 
and did much other Congressional work, the principal 
effort being to unite the colonies under the name of 

142 



the Thirteen United Colonies of North America, and 
hkewise to establish a navy. It ordered five ships of 
32 guns, five of 28 guns and three of 24 guns to be 
fitted out as rapidly as possible. 

There was great distress in Boston at this time, and 
the coast towns were marauded for provisions. Fal- 
mouth in Massachusetts refused to give such assist- 
ance, and it was burned. Newport had the same 
demand and the same threat, but it was spared. 

Parliament in the meantime had determined to put 
forth more vigorous efforts to crush the rebellion. 
Lord North introduced a bill, which was carried, that 
all intercourse for trade with the colonies should be 
done away with until they should come to terms, 
thereby placing America under martial law. It was 
considered that it would take 28,000 seamen and 
55,000 soldiers to accomplish this object. As they 
did not desire to wait for Englishmen to \'olunteer, 
the English Government began to hire soldiers of 
German princes. In 1776 they had entered into an 
agreement with a number of them for such purposes. 
Hesse-Cassel bound itself to furnish over 12,000 men; 
the Duke of Brunswick over 4,000; the Prince of 
Waldeck over 600; the Prince of Hesse over 600; 
making a total of 17,526 men. They required £'j , 4s. 
4d. per man, and were relieved from the obligation of 
supporting them. A stipend amount was also agreed 
upon of 135,000 pounds sterling, and England also 
gave a guarantee against being attacked by any for- 

143 



eign power. These were the people that the colonists 
called Hessians, or hired mercenaries, which played 
such an important part in all the English army opera- 
tions in America. General Knyphausen was in com- 
mand in the attacks upon or near Philadelphia, having 
landed with General Howe at the head of Elk River 
in Maryland, and fought with him at the battle of 
Chadd's Ford, Brandywine, and through the Pennsyl- 
vania campaign. 

During the same year we find Congress calling upon 
the colonies to give up their allegiance to Great Britain 
altogether, and on the 4th of July, 1776, the memor- 
able Declaration of Independence was read and pro- 
claimed at the State House in Philadelphia, with the 
ringing of the old Independence Bell and the church 
bells of the city. 

In the estimation of the King, the " Lords of Trade," 
and the British Government generally, the American 
Colonies had attained the height of insolent rebellion, 
when they openly proclaimed their Independence on 
July Fourth, 1776. Henceforth their subjugation be- 
came a fixed and praiseworthy object. A number of 
Englishmen of rank and military education had under- 
taken to lead their rather incongruous army of British 
soldiers, American inhabitants who were sufficiently 
loyal to the Crown to take up arms against the United 
Colonies, and Hessians who were practicalh' hired to 
fight, with no thought of patriotism or justice to actuate 
them. Already the war was progressing, and on 

144 



August 27, 1776, the battle of Long Island was fought, 
ending in the defeat of the Americans. Generals 
Washington and Putnam were surrounded by three 
divisions of troops under Howe and Clinton at Brook- 
lyn Heights, and they lost a great number, either 
killed or prisoners. Washington made a skilfully 
managed retreat by transports during the night toward 
New York, reaching that city on the 29th of August. 
Howe very foolishly expected that the American 
forces were resting after their defeat; and when he 
found they had escaped, he follov/ed, entering the city 
after Washington had retreated further North. 

A partial battle occurred at White Plains on Octo- 
ber 28th, but the Americans, being unable to hold 
their ground, continued to retreat, leaving Forts Wash- 
ington and Lee to the enemy. These forts were on 
either side of the Hudson, and their capture gave the 
British control of a grand sweep of that river. 
Washington still retreated through New Jersey into 
Pennsylvania, with Lord Cornwallis closely following 
and watching his opportunity for an attack. About 
this time General Charles Lee was captured by the 
British as he was making a tardy march toward the 
main army ; Captain Nathan Hale was captured and 
hung as a spy by order of General Howe, and many 
of the Continental army, growing weary of defeat and 
deprivation, abandoned their posts and left Washing- 
ton with a greatly lessened command. Whether Lee 
was a traitor or not will probably never be made 

M5 



entirely clear, but that he was a skilful and trusted 
officer, who, when he was most needed, failed to do 
his part, there can be no doubt whatever. 

On the 25th of December, 1776, Washington plan- 
ned and carried out one of the bold, strategic strokes 
which time and again rekindled the patriotic courage 
of his disheartened followers. Through a fierce winter 
storm he and a chosen division of his army crossed 
the Delaware on and through the floating ice, and 
surprised a part of the British army, consisting of 
Hessians, under Rahl, who were stationed at Trenton. 

He took the city, with about 1,000 prisoners, and 
lost but four of his own soldiers, two of whom were 
frozen to death in the bitter storm. On January 2, 
1777, Washington found himself with but about 5,000 
men and Cornwallis marching toward his camp at 
Trenton with a large body of troops. After they 
arrived, during the night he broke camp and marched 
toward Princeton, where, on January 3d, he met and 
routed a division of the British army which was on its 
way to join Cornwallis in his attack on Trenton. 

Cornwallis was not aware of the retreat of his antici- 
pated antagonists until the morning, because Wash- 
ington had left his camp-fires burning in order to 
conceal his evacuation of Trenton. At the battle of 
Princeton, General Mercer was killed. After this 
victory Washington withdrew to the heights of Morris- 
town and quartered for the remainder of the winter. 

By much manoeu\-ring General Howe tried to tempt 
145 



Washington to a battle when spring opened. But 
Washington was too true a patriot to risk the lives of 
his diminished army without hope of victory. He 
kept his natural impetuosity firmly in check by peculiar, 
cautious watchfulness and prudent care. By his ac- 
tions he harassed Howe beyond endurance, because 
his desire was to force his way to Philadelphia. 

But Washington's alertness prevented his reaching 
that point either by land or by way of the Delaware 
River. Howe, therefore, withdrew his forces to Staten 
Island, embarked his army of from i8,ooo to 20,000 
men on about 280 barges, or transports, sailed down the 
coast, entered Chesapeake Bay, and landed the whole 
force at the mouth of Elk River, in Maryland. 

On September 11, 1777, the battle of Brandywine 
was fought and the Americans routed with heavy loss. 
On October 4, 1777, the battle of Germantown was 
fought, and again the Americans were unsuccessful. 
Soon after, Forts Mifflin and Mercer were compelled 
to surrender to the British, leaving the approach to 
the city clear for their fleets. During the winter of 
1777-78, Washington's army encamped at Valley 
Forge and endured a season of dreadful suffering. 

On July 5, 1777, General Burgoyne, with 10,000 
British and German soldiers, Canadians and Indians, 
took Crown Point and Ticonderoga and marched toward 
Fort Edward. His march was delayed by General 
Schuyler, commanding the American forces, who or- 
dered the obstruction of the roads. 

147 



On his arrival at Fort Edward, Burgoyne sent a 
detachment, under General Baum, to take the Ameri- 
can stores at Bennington. On August i6, 1777, Gen- 
eral Baum was met by the "Green Mountain Boys" — 
the New Hampshire Militia — under General Stark, and 
defeated. A detachment sent to help General Baum 
was also routed the same day. 

September 19, 1 777, the Americans attacked the 
British at Bemis Heights, near Stillwater. After a 
long battle, Burgoyne held the Heights, but his further 
progress was completely checked. On October 7th, 
the second battle of Stillwater was fought, and Bur- 
goyne's command was compelled to retreat. This 
affray is often called the battle of Saratoga. It was in 
these two engagements that Benedict Arnold con- 
ducted himself with laudable braver}'. He was here 
wounded severely. 

On October 17, 1777, Burgoyne surrendered, and 
his whole division of the British Army became pris- 
oners of war. 

On February 8, 1778, France made a treaty of alli- 
ance with the United Colonies, acknowledging their 
independence and agreeing to furnish assistance against 
the British. This was brought about through the in- 
tervention of Benjamin Franklin, who was sent to 
France for that purpose in 1776, and in appreciation 
of their noble efforts to obtain freedom. 

Philadelphia was evacuated on June 18, 1778. Gen- 
eral Howe having resigned. General Clinton was made 

148 



his successor, and the British Government ordered him 
to New York Cit>-. 

General Washington overtook him on his march, 
and the battle of Monmouth was fought, which, though 
not decisive, was a severe shock to the British Army. 
It was during this battle that General Lee again, and 
for the last time, disobeyed orders. He was repri- 
manded by the Commander-in-chief and suspended 
for a year. August 29, 1778, the battle of Quaker 
Hill and Butt's Hill, Rhode Island, was fought be- 
tween General Sulli\an and the British under General 
Pigot. Sullivan drove the enemy back, but, threatened 
by a superior force, he thought best to withdraw to 
the main land. 

In July, 1778, the Massacre of Wyoming occurred. 
In November, 1778, the Massacre of Cherry Valley, 
New York. On December 29, 1778, Savannah was 
captured by the British. The Battle of Kettle Creek in 
Georgia occurred February 14, 1779. The British were 
defeated. The battle of Brier Creek, Georgia,was fought 
March 3, 1779. ^^^Q Americans were here defeated. 

The second battle of Savannah was fought October 
9, 1779. The Americans were again repulsed. The 
campaign of 1779 at last ended in the South — the 
British still holding Savannah. 

During 1779 the British burned Portsmouth and 
Norfolk, in Virginia, and Norwalk, Fairfield, New 
Haven, and other towns in Connecticut. On July 15, 
1779, General Wayne won the battle of Stony Point, a 

149 



stronghold on the Hudson. About the same time, 
Major Henry Lee attacked the British garrison at 
Paulus Hook, or Jersey City, and took a great number 
of prisoners. August 29, 1779, General Sullivan con- 
quered the Indians at Chemung. In September, 1779, 
John Paul Jones gained his famous naval victory off 
the coast of England, capturing two British frigates. 
In May, 1780, the British under General Clinton be- 
sieged the city of Charleston, South Carolina. General 
Lincoln held out against the enemy from April to 
May 12, 1780, when he was obliged to surrender. 

The battle of Camden, South Carolina, was fought 
between the Americans, under General Gates, and the 
British, under Cornwallis, ending in the victory of the 
British, August 16, 1780. Baron De Kalb received 
his death wound in this engagement. 

October 7, 1780, the Americans defeated the British, 
under Major Ferguson, at King's Mountain. The year 
1780 was made still more memorable by the treason 
of General Arnold, and the arrest and execution of 
Major Andre as a British spy. 

1 78 1, some of the troops of Pennsylvania mutinied 
and started from Morristown toward Philadelphia, to 
demand food and clothing from Congress. They 
were arrested, delivered to General Wayne to be 
treated as spies, but a committee from Congress waited 
upon them, and finding their demands reasonable they 
were satisfied, and the soldiers returned to camp. Other 
di\isions of the army acted in the same manner, until 



Washington was compelled to resort to severe meas- 
ures. But j ust at this time, Robert Morris exerted such 
a wide influence that the Congress was able to raise suf- 
ficient funds to uphold the patriots in their noble cause. 
January 13, 1 78 1, the Americans under General 
Morgan defeated the British under Colonel Tarleton, 
at Cowpens. On March 15, 1 781, the battle of Guild- 
ford Court House was fought, and the Americans 
were forced to fall back, but the loss of the enemy 
was very great. April 25, 1781, the second battle of 
Camden, South Carolina, was fought; the Americans, 
under General Greene, were defeated. In this engage- 
ment the British army, under Lord Rawdon, was so 
demoralized that, notwithstanding their victory, they 
were unable to hold the town, therefore they set it on 
fire. September 8, 1781, the battle of Eutaw Springs 
was fought, both sides claiming the victory. This 
was the last Revolutionary battle fought in the far 
South. September 6, 1781, the traitor Arnold, then a 
general in the British army, plundered and burned 
New London, Connecticut ; and Colonel Eyre, who 
was his companion in arms, took Fort Griswold, and 
Colonel Ledyard, the American commander of the 
fort, was in the act of delivering up his sword, when 
an officer of the British took it from him and thrust 
it into his breast. Colonel Ledyard died instantly. 
The details of the many strategic movements and 
minor engagements of this struggle from 1775 to 188 1 
it is deemed unnecessary to mention. 

151 



The surrender of Lord Cornwallis occurred October 
19, 1 78 1. Washington had receiv^ed strong reinforce- 
ments in an army of French soldiers under the com- 
mand of General Rochambeau, with whom Washing- 
ton had held a secret consultation in Connecticut. 
He also had found a French fleet of twenty-eight ships 
of the line and six frigates, in all carrying i ,700 guns 
and 20,000 men, under the command of Count Dc 
Grasse, placed at his disposal by the French Govern- 
ment. De Grasse had been for some time engaged in 
watching a large British fleet in the West Indies, and he 
quickly responded when called upon b}' the Americans 
to come to the rescue of the American cause. This 
English fleet proceeded up the coast and also sailed 
in at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay, and finding no 
warships there to oppose his armada, the commander 
concluded that his vessels were needed at .Staten Island 
to protect New York, and voyaged on to that city and 
reported to General Clinton. Cornwallis was now 
trying to engage the American forces under Generals 
La Fayette and Wa\-ne in Virginia, hoping to destroy 
them before reinforcements could reach them from 
the North. 

Washington's intention then was to attack the ene- 
my's stronghold at New York ; but General Clinton 
anticipating this, had sent for a detachment from Corn- 
wallis' command. 

When Washington discovered this state of affairs 
he altered his plans and made a brilliant change in 



them. He knew that La Fayette, Green and Wa\'ne 
were acting as a check upon CornwalHs ; he knew 
that the army of the latter was reduced by the detach- 
ment sent to New York in anticipation of an attack 
by the Americans there, and he knew from definite 
information that he could depend upon the co-opera- 
tion of the fleet under De Grasse, in Chesapeake Bay, 
and that it would sail for that place. Therefore, with- 
out exposing his prospective campaign, he quietly, 
and by forced marches from West Point and the Hud- 
son River, withdrew most of his army from the North, 
crossed New Jersey, passed through Trenton, arriving 
in Philadelphia before General Clinton had the least 
idea of his object. Washington's own men at first 
thought that they were to operate against Staten 
Island, until the facts of the march revealed another 
bolder movement. In Philadelphia, he and his noble 
French allies were received with o\erwhelming dem- 
onstrations, but he waited there but a short time before 
pushing southward. 

CornwalHs in the meantime had fortified himself at 
Yorktown, on a tongue of land on York River, and 
here he awaited anxiously expected supplies from the 
British Fleet. 

Instead of this, De Grasse entered the Chesapeake 
Bay and near its mouth he fought a severe engagement 
with this English Fleet for whom CornwalHs was 
waiting. 

Having been victorious, and the enemy with all his 



vessels disappearing northward, the French commander 
sailed up into the Bay, cutting off all communication 
by sea, and landed three thousand men as a co-oper- 
ating force. La Fayette stationed himself at Williams- 
burg, just across the peninsula from Cornwallis, and 
Washington and Rochambeau subsequently closed in 
upon him from the North. La Fayette then yielded 
the command of the Virginia forces to his commander- 
in-chief, and Cornwallis soon found himself so com- 
pletely hemmed in on ev^ery side that he knew he 
must either capitulate his force or be entirely cut to 
pieces. He therefore surrendered his sword to Gen- 
eral Lincoln. 

Seven thousand troops became prisoners and their 
arms fell as trophies of war to the Americans, and the 
few British vessels lying in the harbor became the 
property of the French. And thus a bloodless battle 
led to one of the most brilliant successes of Washing- 
ton's many strategic movements, and the triumph of 
American Independence was assured. 

The surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown was fatal 
to the hopes of the British ever regaining the posses- 
sion or government of the Colonies. Therefore, on 
November 30, 1782, peace was agreed upon in Eng- 
land. On April 19, 1783, peace was declared in 
America. September 3, 1783, the treaty of peace was 
signed in Paris, and the United States was acknowl- 
edged as an independent government by England. 



154 



MISCELLANEOUS NOTES. 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE BATTLE OF THE BRANDYWINE. 

General Washington having discovered the diplo- 
macy of General Howe in recalling his troops from 
New Jersey and transporting them by water to a new 
base of operations near Elkton, Maryland, marshalled 
his troops swiftly to the Brandywine Creek, hoping to 
force the British back, and by this means deter them 
from reaching Philadelphia, their objective point. 

The armies met at Chadd's Ford, and along this 
stream seemed to be succeeding in keeping the enemy 
at bay, but a large detachment of Howe's army fell 
upon the right wing of the Americans to the westward 
unexpectedly, and compelled them to retreat. A 
battle was also fought to the northwest of Chadd's 
Ford, about three days afterwards, but a heavy thunder 
storm put an end to this engagement, which was not 
renewed. The ammunition of Washington's army 
becoming destroyed by the rain, the General was 
obliged to fall away back to French Creek and the 



Warwick furnaces in order to replenish his supply, 
thus uncovering Philadelphia. 

Howe's diplomacy in attempting to reach the capital 
by land seems, at a cursory glance, to be a mistaken 
one. He spent twenty-four days in sailing with his 
18,000 men away from the point which he thought so 
very important and desirable, having the old world 
idea that if he captured the capital the country would 
be his. But he had a fear of the fortifications in 
the Delaware Bay and River, and therefore considered 
the time well spent which prevented the possibility of 
his life laden transports being raked to pieces by 
American guns or sunk by obstructions in the river. 

The possession of Philadelphia was not so important 
as he calculated, because at the first note of danger 
the Government documents and the courts were re- 
moved to Lancaster, and afterwards to York, Pa. All 
the valuable documents were thus rendered secure, 
and instead of a conquering hero taking a beleaguered 
city he found but little opposition, nothing of value to 
seize, and the patriots mustering rapidh- in other direc- 
tions, and leaving him for the time in quiet possession 
of very nice winter quarters and a good residence for 
six months. 

Let me just here make a comparison between these 
opposing officers — General Washington and General 
Howe. 

History has informed us that these two commanders, 
upon whose military prowess the ultimate fate of the 

156 



Revolutionary War principally depended, resembled 
each other very considerably, both being very tall, quite 
commanding and dignified in demeanor, and possessing 
features characteristic in many particulars. For this 
latter we must take into consideration the prevailing 
fashion, to which they both conformed, of wearing the 
hair in powder and peruke ; and in usually appearing, 
when off military dut)', in the long, graceful cloak, 
without which no gentleman's wardrobe was then 
complete. These latter would assume the form of a 
close likeness in the eyes of the plainly clad and 
simple-minded Quakers, to whose enterprise the State 
of Pennsylvania, at least, owed its existence. I think 
it may be accepted without question that of the two 
generals, Howe was the better informed on military 
subjects, and that if both had been subjected to an 
examination in tactics, the British general would have 
appeared to the better advantage. Howe, doubtless, 
had chosen the army as a profession, and had but 
little choice with regard to the command which should 
be assigned to him by his government. 

He was ready to fight under the English flag and 
for England's cause, but his character was not accen- 
tuated by glowing patriotism, or deep anxiety for the 
swift consummation of his duty on this continent, the 
complete subjugation of the rebellious colonies. As 
witness of this fact observe how, time after time, when 
having been victorious, he rested upon his laurels, 
while his defeated antagonists were engaged either in 

^57 



preparing a new campaign or in retreating in system- 
atic order far beyond his reach. Even experience did 
not seem to disabuse his mind of the idea that the 
defeated Continentals were awaiting his arrival to allow 
themselves to be claimed as his prisoners of war. 

To the last he did not realize that they were an army 
of outraged men whom England's parental stern rule 
had driven to desperation and revolt. He saw only a 
lot of rebels in whom corrective measures, such as he 
came to bestow, would soon arouse fear of further 
punishment and ultimate submission to British rule. 

Surprise after surprise met him as he measured the 
poorly equipped and inexperienced American forces 
against his own uniformed and disciplined soldiery; but 
he did not look beneath the surface and see the fire of 
patriotism which kindled brighter and deeper as blow 
after blow was struck against the rights of the over- 
taxed and despised colonists. He could not see that 
every stroke was driving the wedge deeper, that one 
day would dissever the colonies forever from their 
mother country. As a business man attending to 
affairs outside of his personal interests, Howe fought, 
or rather commanded to be fought, the numerous bat- 
tles which circumstances presented; if his forces were 
victorious, his soldiers were given a certain freedom, 
and he became the courteous, dignified, but unofficial, 
gentleman. He was one who, if he did not counten- 
ance, he at least did not prevent, the liberty often 
claimed by the conquering army, of pillaging, destroy- 

158 



ing and injuring the property of the enem}-. Having 
entered Philadelphia, for instance, a degree of license 
was allowed that was altogether unwarrantable under 
the circumstances. Conviviality, gayety, and extrav- 
agance rioted in the usually quiet streets; and evi- 
dently Howe and his associate officers forgot, or laid 
aside for the time, all thoughts of the conquest of the 
Continentals. Meanwhile, surrounded by almost un- 
paralleled want and suffering, Washington, who might 
easily have withdrawn himself to comfort and even 
luxury, during the winter, stood by his ill-fed, wasting 
army. He encouraged them with his presence and 
advice, he shared with them the desolation of one of 
the saddest winters they ever experienced; he dealt 
leniently with their complaints and did all in his power 
to alleviate their suffering. 

But when mutiny showed its hydra head, his strong 
will seized it and dealt the decisive thrusts that quelled 
it beyond resuscitation. The young surveyor and the 
lover of the chase and hunting contests changed to a 
soldier almost without volition — led from one step to 
another by incidents that pointed to him, of all others, 
as the one fitted to master the situation and lead to 
victory. 

By him the blow was dealt that proved to the Indians 
that white men were not their legitimate prey, to tor- 
ture, rob and kill ! In Braddock's defeat a greater 
opportunity was thrust upon him. Modestly demur- 
ring, he at first shrunk from prominence and was rather 

159 



inclined to continue upon his even course as a sur- 
veyor. But when he saw that duty caUed him into 
the field of battle, his ardent blood took fire and his 
natural impetuosity led him to plunge into the fray. 
He was not long in discovering that the better plan 
was to temper his impetuous will with caution, and to 
improve his talent as surveyor in finding the lay of 
the land, and discovering means by which to circum- 
vent the plans of his adversaries. To caution he 
added diplomacy, to that, some of the most brilliant 
strategy. Who but Washington would have braved 
the bitter winter storm that Christmas night, when he 
and his noble followers took Trenton by surprise ? 

Who but he and the brave men whom he led would 
have left their camp-fires brightly burning and gone 
out in the cheerless night to take an enemy unaware? 

Who would have made that hazardous ride to Fort 
Duquesne, through wild forests, among savage Indian 
tribes, to deliver that important letter and return a 
response, while he was yet a youth ? 

How many times were the British officers non- 
plussed by his ceaseless vigilance, by his daring strat- 
egy, by his matchless diplomac)- ? Day and night he 
planned and studied and prayed for the success of the 
cause of liberty. His every thought was for the ad- 
vancement of the right and the conquest of wrong. 

Born in America, but of English descent, his idea 
was not, at first, the severance of the colonies from 
the parent country, but the suppression of wrong and 

1 60 



the retraction of England's outrageously unjust de- 
mands. But when he found that independence was 
the only ultimatum, his brave heart led him to take his 
stand in\incibly against every foe to that end. 

Had England relaxed her unjust oppression, and 
given the colonists ordinary justice, the war would 
have terminated years before it did and the settlements 
would have held faithful allegiance to the sovereign 
country. Washington would have returned to private 
life probably, and been conspicuous only as an honest, 
conscientious and upright man. But the emergency 
arose, and the man fitted to meet it gave time, talent 
and wealth to aid his country in its dire extremity. 
He took his stand, and neither temptation, disaster, nor 
ofttimes defeat reduced an iota of his watchfulness, nor 
daunted his indomitable courage. While Howe was 
enjoying his discomfiture and resting in the assurance 
that the poor, half-starved patriots would one day 
yield with little more ado, Washington was spending 
sleepless nights and prayerful hours for the sake of his 
beloved countr\'. He planned, commanded and 
watched that no faithless hands should frustrate his 
movements. If once betrayed, he became more \igi- 
lant and more masterh' determined that success should 
crown his banners. It is not possible for any one to 
understand fulh' how his patience was tried, and how 
he must have bowed in spirit over the discouragements 
that threatened to overwhelm the tottering cause. But 
at such times his intrepid spirit seemed to take inspira- 

i6i 



tion from the very ashes of lost hopes, and by some 
briUiant diplomacy he was enabled to surprise his 
enemies and to win fresh confidence from his almost 
despairing army. While General Howe pampered his 
British battalions, and even gave grace to the hired 
myrmidons after the seizure of a town or the conquest 
of a fortification, Washington urged his noble few to 
take advantage of even defeat, until sometimes it 
seemed almost doubtful whether consummate skill in 
retreat was not a sort of victory. 

If Howe had been given the same incentive he would 
probably have made many a bolder stroke, and patri- 
otism would then ha\'e urged him onward, but he did 
not possess the intense tenacity of purpose, the defiant 
courage, nor the unswerving integrity of soul that fed 
our greatest of all great men to take advantage of every 
opportunity, and to toil unceasingly for the end which 
he had set before him. If ever a man merged himself 
into his object, forgetting personal feelings entirely, it 
was Washington, whose unbending dignity was never 
arbitrary, whose commandingpresence inspired love and 
hope rather than awe. He must have possessed to a 
peculiar degree the magnetism which attracts without 
enervating the personality of the indi\idual so held. 
When the events of the war crowded, one upon another, 
in a series of ajoparent disasters, and the soldiers seemed 
willing to lay down their arms in despair, his voice,' 
the glance of his eyes, the uplifting of his sword, sent 
new inspiration into their hearts, and they resolved to 

162 



give one more blow for freedom. We cannot help 
but contrast these two generals in one particular : 
When Howe found the Continental army at its worst 
he resorted to a measure to which Washington would 
never have stooped. He promised full pardon and pros- 
perity to all who would lay down their arms and sub- 
mit to British authority. Some poor creatures took 
him at his word and found that he was either deceitful 
or unable to fulfil his promises. It is recorded that 
as a result many returned to their allegiance to the 
United Colonies and became the most earnest fol- 
lowers of the tireless leader. 

Washington made no such promises. He led, 
commanded, planned and fought ; aiming always for 
the right, as he conscientiously understood it, but he 
never cajoled. He was just even to severity sometimes, 
but never unkind, and he was never known to neglect 
an opportunity for benefiting the progress of the cause 
of liberty. We gaze upon these two generals, side by 
side, each endowed with particular manliness of form 
and feature — the one a nobleman, carr}-ing out the 
duties of his profession, with his inward nature appa- 
rently untouched by the spirit of patriotic ambition. 
The other thoroughly imbued with love for his coun- 
try, her people and her laws, and so devoted to their 
interests that his life, talent and strength are conse- 
crated to them with most unselfish and dutiful devo- 
tion. 

The British army loved their commander because 



of his generous and courteous bearing- toward them, 
and his willingness to allow them as much freedom as 
possible while not upon active duty. The Americans 
loved and revered Washington for his strength of 
character, his unalterable determination, his untiring 
energy. Though his dignity was of such a character 
that no one, even among his favorite officers, could 
feel himself free to take a single undue liberty in ac- 
tion or expression, yet, when he appeared in the street, 
he was looked upon with love and veneration, though 
only during public demonstrations were ever the 
voices of the loving population raised to loud expres- 
sions of their fealty to one whom they believed to be 
the greatest of all commanders. 

True, circumstances were very greatly accountable 
for calling forth the intrinsic nobility of this man, but 
the traits were there, ready to respond in the country's 
dire necessity. In an emergency he took command 
against the Indians, and by his wonderful tact and 
prowess made them ever after dread his generalship. 

In an extremity he rallied the Americans when all 
seemed lost in the fall of General Braddock. In an 
emergency he was called upon to general an appa- 
rently desperate and dismantled army. And nev^er 
did he betray the trust bestowed upon him. 

Perhaps, had he and General Howe been in reversed 
position, the result would have been at least longer 
delayed, for Washington was one to whom no oppor- 
tunity was indifferent. He used everything, circum- 

164 



stances, diplomacy, strategy, personal ability, patriot- 
ism, persuasion, example, rigid integrity and untiring 
energy — all leavened with justice and with profound 
faith in the God of Truth and Justice! What wonder 
is it that his unblemished name outshines all others in 
this broad, beautiful land whose ensign of liberty owes 
its first untrammelled flight to his noble devotion to 
the rights of his oppressed countr^^men ! 



LIFE'S BATTLES. 

This poem was suggested by the thought of the 
continual warfare in life, and the danger of fainting by 
the way, or rather of becoming careless in the pursuit 
of duty against the temptations of ease and idleness. 

Youth starts out full of ambition, self-confidence and 
lofty purpose, and the first disappointment, or mistake, 
often leads to despondency, sometimes to recklessness. 
But the active energies of youth soon break forth in 
fresh thoughts of future triumph, and a new start is 
made. Experience can never teach the young aspirant 
the danger of the pitfalls that lie at his feet or the ene- 
mies that surround him. In his blindness he sees only 
the goal, and pressing onward, he sometimes falls by 
the way. He rests in pleasurable pursuits, he laughs at 
fleeing time, at wasted opportunities, feeling the innate 
power that will stand him in good stead when he thinks 
proper to start forth again after his moments and hours 
and days of foolish ease. The days have lengthened 

165 



into months, yes, years perhaps ! Some one else has 
caught his ideas and carried them to success even 
before his eyes ! Another has met the foe and van- 
quished the difficulty which his foolish pride thought 
was awaiting the attack of his superior j^rowess. Even 
yet, disappointed, disheartened, weary of foolish pleas- 
ure and idleness, if he buckles his armor on afresh, and 
makes a new and braver start, he may find success 
and honor. If he does not, it would have been better 
for him to have never tried to be any but an every- 
day plodder on life's rugged highway. 



NOCHE TRISTE TREE, MEXICO. 

This is an old cypress tree, in the village of Popotla, 
near the city of Mexico. It is said to be the tree 
under which General Cortez sat and wept, as his van- 
quished army retreated from the city into which he 
had entered with such ambitious hopes of establishing 
a Spanish empire. The tree is named Noche Triste 
(or sad night) in commemoration of the event, and it 
is carefully guarded. Less than a year afterward, the 
capital surrendered to Cortez, with an augmented army 
composed in part of native Mexicans and Indian tribes 
which he alienated from the Aztecs, without whose aid 
the ambitious general would have had a more difficult 
conquest, or possibly lost his cause. This led to the 
total overthrow of Montezuma's empire. One great 

1 66 



cause of the many defeats of the Mexicans was the 
presence of Spanish cavalry. The natives had never 
seen horses, and they believed them to be supernatural 
men, whom they allowed in their terror-stricken won- 
derment to literally crush them under their steeled 
hoofs or rout them in confused retreat. 

The old, partially dead tree is surrounded by an 
iron railing to protect it from vandalism. Splendid 
cathedrals, churches, palaces, grand government build- 
ings and beautiful parks bear the stamp of the Spanish 
conquest and the religion it introduced, along with the 
Spanish art and love of the beautiful. Even to-day 
the spirit of vanquished Mexico sometimes rises and 
burns with indignant, patriotic fire against this destiny 
of Spanish rule, which endeavored at the time to stamp 
out from this ancient country all but European art, 
religion and government. Cortez certainly raised this 
at that time idolatrous, sacrificial Aztec nation up and 
placed it upon a higher plane of modern civilization. 



MISSING. 



The dire features of war, all frightful in their effect, 
have swept across every country on the globe. Battle- 
fields have echoed and re-echoed with the cries and 
groans of the maimed and dying, and have been made 
sad beyond measure by the thousands of the mutilated 
dead and wounded. News of war in our own country 

167 



has been many times awaited with expectant dread by 
milhons of those who have given of their best for the 
honor of their country. Dead — wounded — missing — 
the long columns met the eyes of mothers and wives, 
of fathers too old for service, and of children too young 
for warfare. Not one day, nor one month, nor one 
year, but many weary, war-stained years, passed on, 
and still those columns — always full, always freighted 
with bitter grief to some aching hearts — were con- 
spicuous in the daily papers or on great bulletin boards. 
The tear-wet sheets went from hand to hand. In 
French — in German — in English — in Russian — in all 
the languages, according to the nations that were 
engaged in warfare. All lands have sounded with the 
storms of battle and with the accompanying hurricane 
of grief. The misery of the bereft hearts of those v/ho 
found their dead and wounded grew less intense as the 
graves grew greener and older year by year. The 
eyes also became accustomed to the empty sleeve, the 
absent limb, the halting gait. But even to-day there 
is in this land a sad, lonely spot in many a bosom 
when the names of the missing are spoken. Surely it 
is most sad to know that they are absent, but whether 
they died and were buried ; whether they were scat- 
tered like chaff upon the lonely, forsaken field; whether 
they lost their reason in the fearful conflict; whether 
they still live and, worst of all, are among the unknown 
in sequestered graves; — these are questions which 
turn aching hearts sick with longing and apprehension, 

i6S 



and have ofttimes sent weary, gray heads to rest 
forever beneath the e^reen sod. 



VALLEY FORGE. 

After Washington's unsuccessful attempt to prevent 
the British forces under General Howe from crossing 
the Brandywine Creek, he pushed on to French Creek, 
and when he had obtained a fresh supply of ammuni- 
tion he crossed the Schuylkill River and marched his 
forces to the Skippack Creek and hills. General Howe 
had also crossed the Schuylkill and occupied the 
ground about Germantown, and Cornwallis entered 
Philadelphia, September 26, 1777, the same day. 
Washington next made forced night marches from the 
Skippack, and October 3d attacked Howe at German- 
town, where an attempt to overcome Howe's divided 
forces was made futile by the intense fog and the ina- 
bility of two of Washington's trusted generals to hurry 
forward and dispose quickly of their forces in position 
for the attack. The mistaking of Wayne's command 
by Stephen and his brigade in the thick fog for the 
enemy, and attacking Wayne, created confusion and a 
retreat; this and the delay of the force attacking Chew's 
house thwarted General Washington's well-laid plan 
for the capture or defeat of General Howe's force, and a 
withdrawal from the conflict ensued. Soon after this 
he went into winter quarters at Valley Forge, a place 

169 



particularly fitted for the purpose by its protected 
position. It also guarded the road to the Warwick 
and Pottsgrove furnaces, from which former place the 
ammunition and supplies were shipped. Cold weather 
came early that year; forced marches, hard fighting 
and insufficient food and clothing, owing to an insuffi- 
cient commissary department, made a sorry-looking 
company of the patriot arm}'. Reduced by hardships 
and battle to but a few thousands, they entered the 
quiet valley almost hopelessly disheartened and en- 
camped on the hills to the south, the line extending 
from the valley eastward to the Schu)'lkill River at 
Port Kennedy. Washington so far sympathized with 
their misfortune that, while the soldiers were building 
their huts, he chose to camp in a comfortless shanty, 
encouraging them by his presence and advice, not 
going to his ultimate headquarters — a well-built brick 
mansion belonging to a patriotic citizen named Isaac 
Potts,* who, with his brothers, owned the forge and 
valley lands — until the soldiers were settled as com- 
fortably as possible in their quarters. These Potts 

••'•Isaac Potts was a brother of Col. Thomas Potts, Jr., of Pottsgrove, 
afterward named Pottstown (the great-grandfather of tlie autlior). Col. 
Thomas Potts fitted out a regiment for the Continental Army at his own 
expense. Washington spent some of his leisure time that winter, after the 
army was quartered, as a guest of Col. Potts at Pottsgrove, and some of 
his orders to his army were issued from Pottsgrove. The buildings are 
not now in existence, although one wall of the old furnace along the bank 
at Glasgow can yet be seen. 

The Valley Forge headquarters, as it now exists, will ht; shown among 
the illustrations. 

170 



brothers valiantly gave up their residences to General 
Washington and his staff. 

Baron Steuben undertook the training of this sadly 
demoralized army with little hope at first of success. 
But his discipline and kindness finally prevailed, and 
filled their hearts with such courage that they after- 
wards became the flower of the colonial forces, though 
their names were never registered upon the visible 
tablets of fame. 



THE SUNSET GUN. 

While visiting one of the towering buildings of the 
lower sections of New York City, the writer was 
standing upon the flat roof of the structure, looking 
out across the Bay, over the busy wharves and ship- 
ping, with a widely extended picture before him. 
Evening was approaching, the factory chimneys 
smoked lazily, here and there a shrill whistle pro- 
claimed that the working-day had closed, and a few 
men and women began to wend their way homeward, 
when suddenly the Sunset Gun, on Sullivan's Island, 
sounded its mighty voice upon his ear, and the flash 
from its dark throat saluted his vision. Again and 
again its one great note rang out, the echo following 
like a shadow in its muffled thunder. The whistles 
of numerous foundries and factories answered — long 
streams of human beings poured along the streets, and 
toward the waiting ferry boats, and the sun was from 

171 



my place of observation slowly sinking behind the 
horizon. A similar experience at Arlington, Virginia, 
recalled this to my mind, and these beautiful scenes 
gave rise to the thoughts expressed in the poem. An 
old Naval Regulation requires that the " Sunset Gun " 
shall be fired at sunset every evening at all the princi- 
pal forts and navy yards in the country — possibly to let 
the inhabitants know that the guardians of their homes 
and country are on the alert against all possible 
danger. 



THE HERO OF JOHNSTOWN. 

Johnstown was built in an elbow formed by the 
confluence of the Conemaugh River and Stony Creek, 
in Cambria County, Pennsylvania. Conemaugh, 
Woodvale, Cambria, and other towns, were situated near 
Johnstown, which was the greater of the group in size. 

All of these towns and villages were extensively 
engaged in the manufacture of iron, and in building 
and repairing railroad cars. The computed popula- 
tion of the ill-fated valley was reported at from 25,000 
to 30,000 people. 

All the northwestern counties of Pennsylvania had 
for several days been swept by a very severe storm, 
and the rivers and streams were greatly swollen, and 
many miles of territory were deluged. The old via- 
duct dam of the Pennsylvania Canal Company had, 
some time before, been leased to a Pittsburg fishing 

172 



and sporting club, to whom it was valuable because it 
augmented the waters in the lake above, to which 
they resorted during the fishing season. 

It is stated that the company had been requested 
time and again to repair the breastworks, because 
there were breaks in it that threatened trouble if the 
rains should swell the stream above. These demands 
had been disregarded, and doubtless the inhabitants 
were reassured by the confidence of those who were 
interested ; but a time came when the structure, one 
hundred feet high, began to yield with the unusual 
pressure of the accumulated waters from the rain, and 
on May 31, 1889, about one o'clock, it gave way, and 
South Fork Creek became an awful chasm of mad- 
dened, rushing, engulfing waters. 

The following account, written from the scene at 
the time, is the basis of my thoughts on the Johns- 
town disaster : — 

A N.AMELESS PAUL REVERE. 

" A nameless Paul Revere lies somewhere among 
the nameless dead. Who he is may never be known, 
but his ride will be famous in local history. Mounted 
on a grand, big bay horse, he came riding down the 
pike which passes through Conemaugh to Johnstown, 
like some angel of wrath of old, shouting his portent- 
ous warning : ' Run for your lives to the hills. Run 
to the hills.' The people crowded out of their houses 
along the thickly-settled street, awe-struck and won- 
dering. 

^72> 



" Nobody knew the man, and some thought he was 
a maniac, and laughed. On at a quick pace he rode, 
and shrilly rang out his awful cry. In a few moments, 
however, there came a cloud of ruin down the broad 
streets, down the narrow alleys, grinding, twisting, 
hurling, overturning, crashing, annihilating the weak 
and the strong. It was the charge of the flood wear- 
ing its coronet of ruin and devastation, which grew at 
every instant of its progress. Forty feet high, some 
say — thirty, according to others — was this sea, and it 
traveled with a swiftness like that which mythology 
claimed to lay hidden in the heels of Mercury. 

" On and on the rider, and on and on rushed the 
wave. Dozens of people took heed of the warning 
and ran up the hills. Poor, faithful rider; it was an 
unequal contest. Just as he turned across the end of 
the bridge all went out into chaos together. A few 
feet farther on, several cars of the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road train from Pittsburg were caught up and hurried 
into the cauldron." 

John G. Parke, Jr., the young civil engineer, who 
found during the forenoon that the dam must give 
way, and ordered his workmen to dig another chan- 
nel to relieve the swollen waters, and then mounted a 
horse and rode down the valley near the dam to the 
telegraph station, is, I learn, still living; but this hero, 
who farther down the vale rode from the telegraph 
station down, we understand, towards Johnstown, was 
not known. He was nearly across the bridge, as the 

174 



account indicates, that was swept away when the furi- 
ous flood came upon the horse and rider, and en- 
gulfed them. The man and his horse were afterward 
found, side by side, among the debris, caught and 
held by a tree and its branches or roots. 

Warnings by telegraph, by messenger, by noble 
horses and men were all in vain. Down swept that 
relentless flood, crushing, uprooting, twisting, and 
destroying, rushing like an army of wild beasts hungry 
for prey. 

To this day it has never been known with exactness, 
how many thousands of human lives were lost in that 
destructive sweep of waters. City and towns were 
swept out of existence with only wreckage and dead 
bodies to tell where they had been. For weeks and 
months we heard again and again of human remains 
being unearthed and buried with no possible mode of 
discovering their identity. In several cases those who 
saw the bodies brought in for identification and burial 
became hopelessly insane, while for many days anx- 
ious friends went again and again to inquire for lost 
relatives or acquaintances. Nothing but the horrors 
of war could equal the terror and agony caused by 
that accident. 

To-day new towns have risen on those sites, the 
sounds of industry ring through the valley, and the 
surrounding country is serenely lovely. But still there 
is the shadow of that sad calamity, and we wonder 
how it is possible for people to live and toil on that 



very spot and not fear the brooding wings of the 
ancel of destruction. 



PHILADELPHIA, THh:N AND NOW. 

Philadelphia was settled by a compan}- of PLngHsh 
Quakers under the leadership of William Penn, whose 
first act was to purchase the land from the Indians, to 
whom he considered it rightfully belonged. 

In 1683, the first land was broken upon which 
stands one of the largest and most prosperous cities in 
the United States. The advancement of the settle- 
ment was phenomenal ; in two years it possessed two 
thousand houses and a peacefully prosperous popu- 
lation. A few years thereafter the town became an 
important city. It was at one time the capital of the 
United Colonies. Within the walls of its old State 
House the Declaration of Independence was signed, 
and from its steeple the Libert}- Bell rang out in 
sonorous tones the announcement of freedom for the 
sadly oppressed colonies. 

Always peaceful in itself, no city has ever done more 
for the welfare of the country. Though war is not an 
element of Quaker principles, }'et the mone}' of the 
Friends flowed into the treasury, and Quaker Cit}' 
enterprise gave mercantile, commercial and manufac- 
turing interests such solid footing that to-day, as 
always, Philadelphia retains an eminence well estab- 

176 



Ushed and wonderfully developed in these two hundred 
years. 

In Revolutionary times the present city area held 
within its precincts some incongruous elements : For- 
ests clad the neighboring hills and valleys, and woods 
extended into its very streets ; here and there pools 
of water rippled with sedge and cat-tails on their 
margin, and wild ducks hidden among their rustling 
stems, or flying, scream.ing and flapping their wings, 
across the waters. 

Simplicity in architecture, in costume and in living, 
quiet deportment and silent meetings were the rule 
with but few exceptions. With such proclivities there 
could not be much wonder if the occupation of the 
city by the British under Howe was an epoch never to 
be forgotten. Rattling spurs and clanking swords, 
brilliant uniforms and boisterous manners, awed, terri- 
fied and disgusted the members of the quiet populace 
who kept to themselves and within their domiciles as 
far as possible. They did not join in any of the revel- 
ries, balls and parades, nor did they care to look upon 
them unless compelled to do so by circumstances. 
And when once more the enemy vacated their home- 
city and the streets so long occupied by their mili- 
tary presence, the town once more assumed the 
calm dignity and unostentatious progress toward 
wealth and honor which were always consistent with 
its origin. 

Though long since become too cosmopolitan, yet 

177 



there are certain characteristics remaining which will 
perhaps never depart. 

Philadelphia has attained her eminence in a quiet, 
unobtrusive manner, and though grand buildings arise 
in every direction, and enterprises of every description 
are made available for the improvement and orna- 
mentation of her beautiful streets, }'et around and 
above all there rests the halo of her origin, the sweet 
derivation of her name and the gentle insinuation of 
her cognomen " The Quaker City," which seem to 
withhold her forever from losing her identity among 
the hundreds of her more brilliant, though no fairer 
peers. 



FORT DUQUESNE— FORT PITT — PITTS- 
BURG. 

A Visit to it in September, 1895. 

Pittsburg, whose original settlement was called 
Fort Duquesne while it was occupied b)' the French, 
and changed to Fort Pitt when taken by the British in 
1758, still retains remnants of the fortifications against 
which the youth, George Washington, made his ini- 
tiative steps toward the command of the Continental 
Army. When a little under twenty-one \-ears of age 
he was entrusted with a dispatch to the French com- 
mander at the fort. And when the final attack was 
made upon it by the British, he was an officer in com- 
mand of the English forces which took it and restored 

17.S 



it after the retreating French soldiery had set fire 
to it. 

The old block house still stands, kept as nearly as 
possible like it was in 1758, by such repairs as are 
absolutely necessar}- to preserve it. 

It is situated in a lot at a point near which the 
Allegheny and the Monongahela Rivers meet, near 
Penn Street. The lot is probabh- one hundred feet 
square, and the house, having six or seven angles, is 
built in the centre of the depressed plot, sufficiently 
deep to permit of men moving about on the outside of 
the building without becoming conspicuous targets for 
Indian arrows or French shotguns. I walked all 
around and through the house, examining particularly 
the peculiar port-holes, w'hich permit a musket to have 
considerable range. They are cut through solid 
blocks of hard wood, aslant either side, so that the 
muzzle of a gun can point not onl}' straight forward, 
but also at quite an angle on both sides. These elon- 
gated holes are quite numerous, being ranged along 
the sides and in the angles of the two stories of 
which the house is composed. This arrangement fur- 
nished quite a formidable mode of resistance, each 
gun doing practically the work of three. It is easy to 
see how a few courageous soldiers could protect them- 
selves in such a structure for a long period against 
.superior numbers. 

The lower story of the fort is of stone, the upper of 
wood, and it has an old-style shingle roof Its con- 

179 



struction is rude, being fastened together with a view 
to strength, symmetry and beauty ha\'ing very little 
part in the plan. 

Although the building is kept in repair, and the lot 
green with sod, its surroundings are neither cleanly 
nor attractive, and the way to it leads through a very 
ill-kept narrow street. In fact, the whole neighbor- 
hood is squalid and miserable — not at all desirable for 
a visit. I was unable to ascertain the name of the 
owner of the property, but I thought it would be a 
good idea to have it kept more inviting to those who 
wish to see the old relic. Evidently such people are 
expected, for the fort is guarded against vandalism, 
and there is a boy and man who act as guides through 
the dismal building, whose principal light comes in 
through the port-holes. 

Boyd's Hill, in Pittsburg, is now a very important 
part of the city, with fine streets and large buildings, 
noticeable among which is the Post-office. 

I visited the old earthworks, which are located upon 
an elevated knoll on the high hill at the south side of 
the river, overlooking the Monongahela, nearly op- 
posite the Smithfield Street bridge. The place is 
reached by the easternmost railroad incline that runs 
up the hillside, and then by walking some distance 
southwardly you find the fort, which is being cut away 
considerably, and there is a fine brick house erected 
adjacent to the old earthworks. A mile or two to the 
west, and on Coal Hill, there was an old fortification, 

I So 



and some slight remains of these earthworks still exist ; 
but all are nearly obliterated by the onward stride of 
improvement. This part of the cliff, near the southern 
end of Smithfield Street bridge, is called Mt. Wash- 
ington, and it contains, among other attractions, a free 
library and reading room, near the western incline- 
railroad station on the top of the hill. 

In a forest ambush up the Monongahela Riv^er the 
French and Indians fell upon General Braddock's 
army and cut it to pieces. Braddock, an English 
officer full of the importance of his position as com- 
mander of the British troops, and sent to attack Fort 
Duquesne, would not desist from performing all 
the routine of regular military discipline, though 
warned that the foes upon whom he was marching 
were altogether different from European antagonists. 
Washington, who was his junior officer, particularly 
endeavored to get him to adopt quiet and cautious 
measures. 

Instead, he marched his men forward in proper 
military order; when fifteen miles from the fort, situated 
at the junction of the two rivers which form the Ohio, 
they were discovered and surrounded immediately by 
hosts of Indians who, in the employ of the French 
commander, were only waiting to know the where- 
abouts of the enemy to concentrate their forces with 
the French. The result was they planned the ambus- 
cade which was successful, and the death of Braddock 
and the destruction of a greater part of his army oc- 



curred. There is not a doubt that if Braddock had 
survived he would have afterwards taken the advice 
of his subordinate as to meeting Indians in warfare. 
As it was, the manner in which he was surrounded 
made him silent with surprise, and almost his last 
words were: "Who would have thought it? Oh, 
well, we will know better next time." This unsuc- 
cessful expedition was made in 1755, and the army- 
was defeated so completely that no farther organized 
attempt was made until 1758, when the British under 
General Forbes, with Washington as commander of 
the Virginia militia, took the fort from the French, 
who, upon finding their defense hopeless, set fire to the 
buildings. The English restored them, however, 
naming the place Fort Pitt, after their great statesman. 
Sir William Pitt. 

At the Fort Duquesne attack a young British officer 
by the name of Captain Grant was ordered to march 
against the fort. He gained a position on the eleva- 
tion named then Boyd's Hill, quite close to the enemy, 
when in the morning he unfortunately revealed his 
approach by sounding the reveille, which was the 
signal for the Indian allies of the French to fall upon 
his troops and rout them and cut them to pieces. 
Forbes and Washington came up afterwards. 

From that slight foundation of a military fort at the 
head of the noble Ohio River has arisen one of the 
most important cities of Pennsylvania. Its coal mines 
and iron and glass factories are famous all over the 

182 



country, and the city has grown rapidly in extent and 
population. The city proper is not so desirable as a 
residence because of the smoke from the bituminous 
coal used in its numerous manufactories, but the in- 
habitants are accustomed to it and the population 
annually increases. Across the Allegheny River the 
fine city of Allegheny, with its handsome residences 
and beautiful streets, can be seen, while Birmingham 
and several lesser towns and villages are observed 
across the Monongahela River on its southern bank. 

The scenery, consisting of mountains, hills and 
valleys, is made more attractive by the presence of the 
three rivers, Allegheny, Monongahela and Ohio; the 
latter showing clearly where the waters of the other 
two run side by side into its channel, the Mononga- 
hela dark with the earth which it carries along, the 
Allegheny often clear and pure as a mountain stream, 
and this river supplies the city with its drinking water, 
of which the inhabitants are justly proud. 

To look upon this great city with its large factories 
and very extensive and lucrative commerce, with its 
splendid churches and public buildings, with its 
vast industrious population and its several beautiful 
suburban towns, the progress of the years which have 
passed since the old fort was taken is marvellous. As 
gold has been the prime agent in the advancement of 
many far western cities, iron and coal have made the 
city of Pittsburg the metropolis of Western Penns}^l- 
vania. 

183 



REVOLUTIONARY BATTLE-GROUNDS. 



CHAPTER V. 



Impelled by similar motives which actuated me 
to revisit the battle-grounds of Antietam and Gettys- 
burg — that of making visual observations — I made a 
tour of some of the Revolutionary battle-fields and 
other places connected with events of that period. I 
started southward to trace the footsteps of General 
Howe and his large army, when he planned and 
accomplished the occupation of my native city. 

Sometimes in a local vehicle, but generally in my 
own carriage, I traveled the whole ground near 
Philadelphia carefully, from the eastern camp near 
Fort Washington, Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, 
to Valley Forge and PaoH. Also along the changeful 
course of the Brandywine ; then from Chadd's P'ord 
to Kennett Square, the pretty little city ha\-ing for 
part of its history, Craycroft, the residence of the 
late Bayard Taylor, one of America's greatest writers. 

Leaving Kennett Square and driving through some 
184 



rich territory and lovely scenery, I rode down Red 
Clay Creek, and found it a most beautiful and enchant- 
ing" ride alon^- that stream. Thence, I went to Newark, 
Delaware, and took the train for Elkton, Maryland, 
and then wandered o\er the region which Knyp- 
hausen foraged opposite to Howe's landing-place, the 
facts concerning which are contained in another 
chapter. 

Washington's object had always been to prevent a 
consolidation of the divisions of the British army, and 
to this end he never lost a chance to engage any por- 
tion of it if he found his own army sufficiently strong 
to cope with its antagonist. Yet no great general was 
ever more considerate of human life. It was this 
leaven of mercy which led him oftentimes to accom- 
plish by stratagem, albeit by apparent waste of time, 
that which if otherwise conducted must have resulted 
in great loss of life. 

By this plan of action he had kept Howe's vast 
army at bay when the most desirable of all objects to 
the British officer was the possession of the Capital. 
Marching, countermarching, ceaseless vigilance and 
prompt movements tormented the enemy for months ; 
until the leader grew weary and determined to make 
a bold manoeuvre and circumvent the keen watch- 
fulness of the American commander-in-chief History 
has repeated the story of the feints and dalliance of the 
British commander, who evidently was at his wits" 
end between his desire to hold New York, to aid Bur- 

185 



goyne, or to take Philadelphia. But the latter wish 
eclipsed all others, and August i8, 1777, Howe's army 
of 18,000 men, after a tempestuous voyage from Sandy 
Hook, landed at Elkton, Maryland, at the mouth of 
the Elk River, a tongue of Chesapeake Bay, extend- 
ing quite a distance northward, where this wide river 
gave convenient harborage to his many transports. 
One may imagine the picture of that number of sea- 
tossed men, landing upon a wide stretch of level sand, 
on the border of a forest-clad hillside, with very few 
buildings in view, and most inhospitable weather to 
welcome them to the new countr\'. 

Washington lost no time in bringing his army, 
southward as far as Wilmington, where he left them 
encamped, while he and several of his staff constituted 
themselves a reconnoitering party, for the purpose of 
ascertaining the actual neighborhood of the enemy. 
They reached Elkton and stopped at a brick tavern 
situated on somewhat elevated ground at the eastern 
side of the town or village, from which place they could 
see the British army landing at Old Field Ferry, a 
point west of Old Court House Point, on the opposite 
side of the wide waterway of Elk River. These ferry 
stations are now much changed. Parts of the old 
ferry-house logs and timbers lie about, decayed and 
dilapidated. The roadwa)', worn deep by former 
travel, and extending into the narrow strip of woods, 
remains still to mark the point of debarkation at Old 
Field Ferry; while Old Court House Point has a 

186 



large wharf, now much fallen into decay. This land 
is now owned, and occupied during the sporting 
seasons, by the Hon. Joseph J. Martin, ex-city treasurer 
of Philadelphia, as a fishing and duck-shooting resort. 
Having discovered the actual whereabouts of the 
British, and formed a decided conviction of Howe's 
intention, Washington and his officers returned to the 
hotel, and finding a dinner already prepared, they par- 
took of the viands, and started on their return, re- 
freshed with the meal which, doubtless, had been pre- 
pared for the English officers. This brick house, then 
a tavern, is still standing, having been altered to a 
neat dwelling-house. Washington's intention was to 
rejoin his army immediately at Wilmington ; but a 
furious electric storm came on, which rendered it im- 
possible for them to proceed, and they were glad to 
seek shelter at Aiken's tavern, situated at a place now 
called Glascow, about twelve miles from Elkton. An 
old grist mill, which they passed as they crossed the 
bridge over Elk Creek, is still standing as a landmark, 
though it has since been enlarged. When Howe's 
army landed, his provisions were scarce, and the 
horses in a very bad condition for cavalry use from 
their long and uncomfortable voyage down the coast. 
And no doubt a great number of the men were as 
tired of rocking upon the billows as the quadrupeds. 
The commander immediately ordered a detachment 
of German troops, under the command of General 
Knyphausen, to cross Elk River to Old Court House 

1 87 



Point, and forage the whole district and procure pro- 
visions, cattle and horses, and then meet him at Ai- 
ken's tavern. In the meantime, Howe crossed over 
Little Elk Creek, through Elkton to the place desig- 
nated. 

The country thus traversed was well settled by 
thrifty farmers, Elkton being a small but prosperous 
town, and the inhabitants in the neighborhood were 
all either engaged in fishing on the bay, or in agricul- 
ture at various points farther inland. The large fruit- 
ful farms and orchards of to-day owe some of their 
prosperity to the industry of the early husbandmen who 
were awed beyond measure at the presence and auda- 
city of the great British army, which demanded far 
more than they were well able to bestow. 

The American army marched southward until the 
advance under General Maxwell halted and fortified 
itself along White Clay Creek, the principal part of the 
army took a stand along the left bank of the Red Clay 
Creek, but subsequently withdrew to the Brandywine 
Creek, These two former streams unite and form the 
Christiana which makes the harbor of Wilmington. 
Washington wasted very little time in preparing fortifi- 
cations, for he held himself in readiness to move im- 
mediately upon any change of base effected b}^ his 
enemy. As the British advanced Washington cau- 
tiously retreated, watching every movement until fully 
convinced that Howe's intention was to enter Phila- 
delphia from the south instead of turning southward 

i88 



towards Charleston, which at one time was supposed 
to be his plan. 

The British proclamation of amnesty, which was 
offered when the Friends' settlements were reached, met 
with very little response, though indeed the presence 
of the Continental troops created but little enthusiasm 
either. But it must be remembered that in Pennsyl- 
vania the Quaker principle of peacefully minding one's 
affairs predominated, and also that the greater number 
of the occupants of the part of the country in which 
the troops were encamped was devoted to farming and 
grazing. To-day farms, peach orchards and dairies 
still occupy the land, the towns depending upon them 
for very much of their commercial importance. 

Washington turned to the Brandywine, which, 
though called a creek, is quite as large a stream as a 
great many riv^ers of the West, and determined to re- 
sist at this place the progress of the British if possible, 
Chadd's Ford being the most important crossing on 
the line to Philadelphia, the American forces were 
centered there, General Maxwell still in front as a 
foil to the advancing right wing of the enemy. A 
guard of 900 cavalrymen, or rather an incongruous 
host of mounted patriots, was thrown still farther 
southward to the front to engage the advancing cavalry 
of the enemy. 

And now the belligerents confronted each other. 
Knyphausen and his Hessians opposing the Colonial 
left, Howe and a portion of the main body in front of 

1 89 



Chadd's Ford, Cornwallis and a large di\ision swifdy 
marching up the stream to Jeffries' and Trimble's 
Fords, at which they found little difficulty in crossing. 

The story has been told again and again how those 
two brave armies fought. How Washington was de- 
ceived about Cornwallis' flank movement until it was 
too late to save the wing under Sullivan. How the 
patriots contended against direful odds along the 
rugged banks and in the dense woods on the shores 
of the beautiful stream until they were compelled 
to retreat. How Wayne and La Fayette, Greene and 
Maxwell, Sullivan, Muhlenberg and Stephens, Arm- 
strong and Weeden led their men into the very centre 
of the fight, dauntless, until overpowering numbers fell 
upon them, not only in the front but in the rear, until 
the patriots grew confused with the counter-fusilades. 
It is not surprising that some fled in dismay and that 
the battle ended with defeat for the Americans, who 
were much less in numbers, being only i i,ooo against 
18,000, and far inferior in discipline and armed with 
very antiquated weapons. They retreated to Chester, 
where those who had dropped off from their division, 
in the confusion of retreat, rejoined the army in its 
farther retreat toward Philadelphia and the upper 
Schuylkill Valley. 

Except for a monument or a landmark here and 
there along the Brandywine, one would never know 
that its sparkling, dashing, miniature cascades or its 
smooth shallows and placid deeper waters had ever 

190 



been tinted with the crimson tide from many an eager 
heart. Merrily it turns the mills, some gray with age, 
softly it slips over the mossy stones in its bed, and 
ripples and sings among the alders and willows that 
bend low enough to hear its every whisper. Over a 
century has passed and conquerors and vanquished 
have all succumbed to the one great general whom 
none can resist ; and yet the stream flows on, bearing in 
its name a telling page in the history of a great nation. 

On the nth of September this battle was fought 
and lost by the Colonial army, and yet on the 15th 
Washington was again leading his troops against their 
enemy. Before they halted for the night the advance 
was only twenty miles from the Capital. On the i6th 
an engagement was begun, but a violent storm made 
the roads impassable, saturated the ammunition and 
drenched the men. 

The commander-in-chief, having inspected the am- 
munition and weapons, found how impossible it was, 
with hardly any powder fit for use, to battle with a well- 
equipped army. He therefore quietly withdrew the 
whole force to Warwick Furnace, and French Creek, 
where there were stores of muskets and good ammu- 
nition. 

At Paoli one can see the monument, near the site 
of the battle, erected to the Americans under General 
Wayne, who were sent out by Washington to note the 
whereabouts of the opposing army, and to engage 
them if practicable, so as to deter them from nearing 

191 



Philadelphia until the whole Colonial army was pre- 
pared to defend the city. They were fallen upon in 
the night while sleeping, by overpowering numbers, 
and the record of that day, September 20, 1777, is 
marred by the loss of 150 Americans, many of whom 
were bayoneted after they had lain down their arms. 
Paoli is a prosperous little town, in a beautiful rolling 
country. I visited the new monument of fine granite. 
The old one, of white marble, is placed in the corner 
of the lot, it having been much marred and chipped 
by vandal relic hunters. Across the field at this point, 
to the southeast of the valley, stands an old farmhouse 
which is claimed to have been General Wayne's head- 
quarters on that eventful night. In the old log por- 
tion, overgrown with vines, the rooms the General 
occupied were shown me on my visit ; and photogra- 
phers have pictured this as the house. But I w^as 
informed by Col. William Wa}'ne, President of the 
Pennsylvania Sons of the Revolution, that an old 
building, to the northwest of this one, known as the 
Hutchinson House, on a road leading west or south- 
west from Paoli, has a greater claim to the honor than 
the other. As the matter is traditional, we may rest 
the claim between the two Revolutionary buildings in 
the absence of correct data. Certain it is that he reached 
there late at night and left immediately upon hearing 
of the attack, so as to reach his command in the 
adjacent woods. So that the building was occupied 
as a headquarters but a few hours. 

19- 



General Howe found a clear road after the attack 
upon the force of General Wayne, he therefore marched 
to the Schuylkill River, and crossed at Flatland Ford, 
opposite \'alley Forge. Washington, fearing for the 
stores, which were held in considerable quantities at 
Reading, marched northward and encamped in Potts- 
grove township, about ten miles aboxe \'alley Forge, 
so as to protect these stores from capture. This time 
the commander-in-chief did just what the British 
officer desired, for he had made the feint in order to 
draw the Americans further from Philadelphia. On 
September 22d, the enem\- marched down old Ridge 
Road, and, on the 26th, General Howe took undis- 
puted possession of the Capital, making his head- 
quarters at Germantown, while he sent a division under 
Lord Cornwallis to occupy and hold Philadelphia in 
British possession. 

Hundreds of American citizens travel dail\- on that 
same old road, with never a thought of the brilliant 
army that in 1777 made the echoes ring with the tramp 
of feet, the stamp of hoof and the wild music of fife and 
drum ! Then, dense woods here, and verdant valley 
there, resounded to the unaccustomed sounds, and wild 
animals fled before the approach of that great serpen- 
tine line, Avhich climbed the steep hills and dipped 
into the hollows in a continuous stream toward the 
coveted goal. In the meantime Washington concen- 
trated his forces, and marching southward went 
into camp at Skippack Creek. He occupied a wildly 

193 



beautiful portion of country, about nineteen or twenty 
miles above Philadelphia, located arnon<j rolling hills 
between the Perkiomen and Skippack Creeks, where the 
army was comparatively safe from surprise, being 
guarded on three sides by water and on the other by 
woods. This neighborhood is still almost primitively 
lovely. Towns and villages have sprung into exist- 
ence, but they are comparatively old-fashioned, the 
inhabitants of the country around being farmers who 
cling with surprising tenacity to the customs of their 
forefathers. 

In some places along the Skippack road the woods 
are so dense on either side as to make the road dark 
and lonel}'. One can imagine the stealthy step of the 
wildcat, and the equally silent tread of the Indian, 
until even now an uncanny awe is inspired by the pres- 
ence of the forest, many of whose trees no doubt have 
sheltered wild game and wary redskins in those olden 
times. But it is a reassuring pleasure to remember 
that in Pennsylvania the Indians were too generous to 
be hostile to the people who from the first recognized 
them as reasonable human beings with rights -worthy 
of respect. 

From this vantage ground Washington noted the 
movements of the enemy, always alert for the oppor- 
tunity to regain possession of Philadelphia, which, 
though not nearly so important as Howe supposed 
the Capital to be, was very prominent as the largest 
and most centrally located city of the United Colonies. 

194 



A part of Howe's policy upon the capture of Phila- 
delphia was to throw a detachment of his army along 
the eastern side of the Delaware, so as to capture the 
fort at Red Bank, to retain a division in the centre of 
the city in case of emergency, and to maintain a large 
force in Germantown, as a guard between Washington 
and the British headquarters. 

Germantown was then, as now, connected with the 
city by the long turnpike, now well known as German- 
town Avenue. Until recently very many of the old 
farmhouses and unimportant small dwellings remained, 
which were invaded by the British soldiery with their 
demands for food and milk, which were handed to 
them, sometimes by sympathizers, whom policy kept 
silent, but mostly by trembling hands, accompanied by 
aching hearts and blanched faces, for well they all 
knew that in a short time the cannons would roar and 
the bullets whistle between the faithful Colonial troops 
and the British invaders. Here and there along the 
road tumbling walls and a few ancient buildings are 
left, while careful repairs have kept others staunch 
and strong as the hearts that defended them. General 
Wayne Hotel, at which it is claimed the General 
stopped while in Germantown, shines in bright new 
paint, while every mark of decay is carefully replaced 
by new material. There stands the old Mennonite 
Church with solid stone walls almost unmarred b}- 
time, and " 1770" looking out from its tablet as if to 
defy the advance of time. There is Chew's house, 

195 



a grand old landmark of the Revolution, which bore 
such a disastrously prominent part in the battle of 
Germantown. The lawn is fair and green, the trees, 
many of them old monarchs, make fintastic, trembling 
shadows in the wind and sun; while the old gray 
house, with the holes of several cannon shots still 
visible, stands as firmly as it did when Musgrove and 
his small portion of the British army entered and held 
it so stubbornly. Possibly it would resist just such 
another onslaught to-day. It looks as if another cen- 
tury would still find it defying Time's destroying fin- 
gers. And there is Johnson's lovely lawn and waving 
trees just opposite. Perhaps some of them sheltered 
for a time the brave colonists, who were so bitterly 
averse to leaving Chew's building in the hands of the 
enemy. But by the pause at that place, such com- 
plications arose in the positions of the troops that 
the tide of the battle was altered, if not turned 
entirely. 

The old market house, which was designated as 
a point at which Washington intended the several 
divisions of his army to aim to concentrate in their 
circumventing attack upon the whole of Howe's army 
at Germantown, was situated in a plot of ground still 
called Market Square, at Mill Street, School Lane 
and the Main Street, or Germantown Avenue. The 
Market Square, Market House and an old church 
edifice have given place to a neat, grass- grown space 
upon which stands a beautiful monument erected in 

196 





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honor of the Union soldiers from Germantown who 
fell during the Civil War. 

A plain granite base, bearing suitable inscriptions, 
upholds a young infantryman whose face is very at- 
tractive in its calm expression. A brass cannon stands 
at each corner of this monument, upon which the 
corps-mark of Ellis Post is displayed in bronze. The 
ground is protected by a light iron railing, but even 
without that it is doubtful if the statue, which is the 
pride of Germantown, would be molested. 

Washington had disposed his divisions with peculiar 
sagacity, hoping to meet, surround and vanquish this 
British force. He knew that one detachment was 
defending the Delaware River front, another was 
stationed in Philadelphia, while a guard division 
stretched through Germantown about its centre, at the 
old market house at Mill Street, with the left wing 
resting on the Schuylkill, the right extending toward 
the Delaware. He left the Skippack encampment on 
October 3d, soon after the sun had set. Sulliv^an and 
Wayne, and Conway with his brigade on their flank, 
were to march quietly to the town by way of Chestnut 
Hill, with the object of attacking the centre of the 
British force, and the right flank of its left wing. 

Greene and Stephens, flanked by a brigade com- 
manded by General McDougal, were to move down the 
Limekiln road, enter the town at the market house and 
engage the left flank of the right wing. General Arm- 
strong with his Pennsylvania militia was to march down 

197 



Ridge Road and endeavor to engage the left flank so 
that it would not aid the centre. And Smallwood and 
Foreman were to go down Old York Road and endeavor 
to prevent them from turning to the centre, by simulta- 
neously attacking them on all sides, if possible. Ster- 
ling, Maxwell and Nash were to hold their division and 
brigades as alert reserves, Washington attached himself 
and staff to the division under Sullivan and Wayne. 
And all started in the order named. But on the morning 
of the 4th of October, at about three o'clock, the 
British scouts discovered the presence of the Colonial 
army as it was approaching Wissahickon Creek, at its 
crossing on the pike, down which they were marching. 
About sunrise General Conway's advance attacked and 
drove back the enemy's advance under Colonel Mus- 
grove. This must have been a propitious beginning, 
if Musgrove had not entered the Chew mansion and 
driven the Americans from their path. Dismay, con- 
fusion, a blinding fog and consequent mistake in firing 
upon one another instead of the enemy, marked the 
battle of Germantown. Though some of the divisions 
accomplished the task laid out for them so far as lay 
in their power, Washington looked on with anxious 
eyes and a soul fully alive to the hazardous position of 
his army. Some were flying in consternation from 
their brother soldiers, others were attacked with fierce 
fury by the enemy, with no opportunity of reorgan- 
izing and meeting the foe in systematic warfare ! For 
a little time he seemed to be inclined to let the battle 

lyS 



progress, hoping against hope, that his men would 
recover. 

But when Cornwahis arrived with his division from 
Philadelphia, the tide swayed too heavily, and he or- 
dered a retreat. So ended the battle of Germantown, 
with a heavy loss of American troops. But no guns 
were left to the enemy, and no actual triumph, except 
that the colonists had failed in their undertaking. 
Practically, all was the same as before the engage- 
ment. The British still held Philadelphia and Ger- 
mantown, and Washington was soon again in camp at 
Skippack Creek. But his numbers were lessened, and 
there were wounded to be restored to health and sound- 
ness if possible. 

Washington was very unwilling to allow Howe and 
his army to occupy Philadelphia during the winter ; 
therefore, when his wounded were sufficiently recov- 
ered, he broke camp at Skippack Creek and marched 
to White Marsh, occupying the " Emlen Mansion " as 
his headquarters. The army here prepared for de- 
fense, expecting to have an engagement before the 
winter set in. Breastworks were raised and fortifica- 
tions were built, some parts of which are still preserved 
at Fort Washington and its near neighborhood. 

But General Howe, who had learned a sharp lesson 
in the battles of Brandywine and Germantown, planned 
a surprise for Washington, which he fortunately dis- 
covered in time. 

General Howe had for his quarters in Philadelphia 
199 



a house once occupied by General Cadwallader, on 
Second Street, below Spruce. One of his attending 
officers (tradition sometimes names this one as Major 
Andre, whose fate is so well known,) used a back 
room in the house immediately opposite to the head- 
quarters, where he and several other officers held 
meetings remarkable for their privacy. The house was 
otherwise occupied by William Darrach and Lydia his 
wife, who were both members of the Friends' Meeting. 
Lydia was not quite satisfied with her tenant, and one 
evening when he told her that he was going to be late 
in leaving, but that he desired the family to retire 
early, and he would call her to extinguish the candles, 
her anxiety led her to so far obey the injunction as to 
send her family to rest quite early; but she stole bare- 
footed close to the door of the room and heard an 
order prepared, commanding all the British troops to 
make a night attack upon General Washington's army, 
which was then encamped at White Marsh, about four 
miles above Chestnut Hill. The assault was to be 
made upon the night of December 4, 1777. This was 
the night of the 2d of December, and L}-dia's brave 
heart was too eager to allow her to sleep, even should 
she retire. But she withdrew and went to her bed, 
feigning sleep so completely that she was able to keep 
quiet until the third call had been made. The remainder 
of the night and during the early morning she planned 
and counter-planned by what means she could warn 
the American army of its danger. She confided in no 



one, for fear of mistakes. So she coneluded to take 
the news herself to General Washington. In the 
morning she told the family that she was in need of 
flour, and that she would go to Frankford to get it, 
refusing to take even a servant with her. She obtained 
a pass through the British lines from General Howe, 
and went on her way. Her great desire made the 
way seem interminable, but a short distance beyond 
the lines she met Lieutenant-Colonel Craig, an Amer- 
ican officer with whom she was acquainted. She was 
the mother of a Colonial officer, and probably that 
fact aided in gaining her a swift audience for her infor- 
mation. Colonel Craig left her to rest and refresh her- 
self, while he hastened to headquarters and gave the 
story, which was received at once without question by 
General Washington, who prepared so effectually to 
repel the attack that the plan was entirely forsaken. 
Lydia took her sack of flour home and resumed her 
duties, not forgetting to watch with wakeful e)-es and 
ears sharpened by honest solicitude. She heard the 
marching of the troops and the retiring footsteps of 
the British officers, but she was compelled to wait 
the development without question. In a day or two 
after, the officer, with a mysterious air which startled 
her, asked her to come to his room. When the door 
was locked she became almost paralyzed with fear; 
she felt certain that she had been discovered, and that 
she would be treated as a spy. But the General ques- 
tioned her about her family, and inquired at what time 



they had retired on the night of the 2d. She steadied 
her \oice sufficient!}' to answer him unhesitatingly that 
they were all in bed at eight o'clock. " Well," said 
he, " I know you were asleep, for I knocked three 
times before you answered; but I cannot imagine who 
let General Washington know of our intended attack, 
unless the walls can talk, for when we got to White 
Marsh he was ready with cannon mounted and troops 
anxious to repel us. And we hav^e marched back like 
a pack of fools." Lydia Darrach's relief was two-fold, 
and her remarkable will must have been tested to the 
uttermost to keep from betraying that she had more 
than ordinary interest in the m}^stery. 

The weather was getting cold, the ground frozen, 
and the soldiers already were suffering from insuffi- 
cient food and clothing. These circumstances led 
Washington to consult with his staff, and they decided 
to go into winter quarters at Valley Forge. On De- 
cember II, 1777, the main part of the army marched 
to the Forge, crossing the Schuylkill at Swedes' Ford, 
at the southern end of the now prosperous little city 
of Norristown. For the infantry, many of whom were 
nearly barefooted, a clievaux-dc-frise of army wagons 
was made, that they might not be submitted to the 
pain of fording the stream, on the stony bed of which 
their feet would have been sadly bruised. 

Old York Road, Germantown Avenue, School 
Lane, Limekiln Pike, Mount Airy, Chestnut Hill, 
White Marsh, Barren Hill, Fort Washington and Skip- 



pack are household names still along that storied 
highway of warfare. Recently changes have in- 
creased since the noisy trolley has forced its way 
into the quiet neighborhoods. Between Germantown 
and Philadelphia, and again from Germantown north- 
ward, dense forests barred the way except where the 
roads named cut a narrow way, each for itself, to the 
points beyond. 

The Germantown Railroad was opened to travel on 
June 6, 1832, and the first train made its initial trip 
from Philadelphia to the old depot at Germantown in 
three-quarters of an hour, and it accomplished the re- 
turn in half an hour, which amazing speed made the 
occupants of the car tremble, and many an old person 
predicted terrible calamities to those who flew into the 
face of danger at such a fearful rate. The necessity 
for connecting Norristown and Manayunk by rail 
seemed almost insurmountable until a young engineer 
conceived the idea of building a bridge over the Wis- 
sahickon Creek. A viaduct bridge was therefore built 
near Robeson's old mills in 1834. It was considered 
a wonderful accomplishment, and when the trains ran 
for the first time over the structure and arrived in 
Norristown without an accident, the event was cele- 
brated with bountiful feasting and enthusiastic appre- 
ciation of the unique feat which marked the year 1835. 

Germantown being founded by Germans upon the 
principle which claimed freedom of opinion in matters 
relating to conscience, took the initiative step toward 



the foundation of a country in which all men shall be 
free, by being the first to proclaim against slavery in 
any form, though many of her wealthier citizens held 
slaves as chattels. 

Chestnut Hill was subsequently connected by rail 
years afterwards. The whole beautiful tract of countr}' 
called Chestnut Hill was once owned entirely by 
Francis Daniel Pastorius, first Lieutenant-Governor of 
Pennsylvania, and one of the founders of Germantown. 
One of the original Dunkard churches still stands, 
and is kept in good repair by those Avho worship 
therein. It stands back from the street with ancient 
trees shading its quaintness, on Germantown Avenue 
above Sharpnack Street, and but a short distance from 
the old Chew estate. 

About a half a mile, or possibly less, above the old 
church there stands an old log cabin, the only one left 
of the many that were built by the early settlers of the 
country. This relic is located at the corner of Ger- 
mantown Avenue and a primitive lane called Mermaid 
Avenue. The cabin is literally built of logs and 
boards as described many times in the history of the 
new country. It stands endwise to the street, and it 
is still used as a dwelling, though its age tells upon it 
despite the great care that is taken to prevent its 
decay. Unfortunately, the old building stands in the 
way claimed for widening and improving Mermaid 
Avenue, but thus far the present owner refuses to part 
with the ground. It is a very picturesque landmark, 

204 



and it would be little less than sacrilege to immolate 
that which has withstood the storms of more than one 
hundred and sixty years. There is a tradition that 
General Washington once stopped at the house for a 
season on his way to or from Germantown, but that is 
not an authentic fact, yet we are sure that it stood 
during the battle of Germantown, when 1,073 o^ the 
Colonial army fell in the effort to wrest Germantown 
and its contiguous \'illages from the hands of the 
British. 

During the yellow fever scourge in 1793, Philadel- 
phia, which was again the capital, became infected. 
Washington and his cabinet therefore took up their 
residence in Germantown, and many stories have been 
told of the courtly grace of the beloved General and 
Lady Washington, which she was called by nearly 
everyone. Her charity, gentleness and sweetness of 
manner won the respect and affection of all who 
had the pleasure of knowing or even seeing her. 
They lived in the house upon the Rittenhouse estate, 
and it was always a pleasure to see the President and 
his household go out from his home to church every 
Sunday. Even the quiet Quakers admired and ven- 
erated the man who bore the weight of honors be- 
.stowed upon him with exquisitely dignified modesty 
who courted no homage, but accepted the affection 
bestowed by a grateful people with most unostenta- 
tious grace. 

Gilbert Stuart, the renowned painter, resided in 
205 



Mount Air\', Germantown, in 1794 and in 1795, using 
the barn back of his house for a studio. About this 
time he succeeded in making the acquaintance of 
General Washington, of whom he painted several pic- 
tures, the original study of the illustrious sitter's head 
being faithfully reproduced in all of them. 

During the summer I had the pleasure of seeing 
and studying Stuart's great painting of the then Presi- 
dent Washington, which hangs in the Council Cham- 
ber of the City Hall at Newport, Rhode Island. It is 
a magnificent picture of a great man, and one must 
turn again and again to gaze upon the nobly hand- 
some, earnest face. The secret of imperfections often 
attributed to Stuart's portraits of Washington is that 
he finished very few full-length figures, having the 
details of all but the head and shoulders done by 
artists of less celebrity. 

City improvements are fast removing Revolutionary 
landmarks in Germantown and its vicinity. Some day, 
only the pictures \\ill remain of such spots as have for 
more than a century been unmolested. Houses, woods, 
parks, lawns, ever}^thing is being swept away, until 
even the springs and streams from which both Conti- 
nentals and British slaked their thirst, are being drained 
out and filled up. One of the old spring-houses was 
protected until lately, but now Wistar's spring is to be 
sacrificed, and the ancient trees among which it stands 
are to be turned into lumber and fire wood. 

Long ago the. Reading Railroad leased the German- 
206 



town and Chestnut Hill Railroad, connecting these 
suburbs with the city. Then, beautiful residences were 
constructed as summer resorts by the wealthier inhab- 
itants. And for many years, Chestnut Hill particu- 
larly was a brilliant place in the summer, and w^as 
almost deserted in the winter, Germantown Avenue 
possessed the same characteristic in that suburb as it 
held in Germantown — houses humble, and mansions 
costly sprung up very often, side by side ; the only 
digression from that main road being caused by 
tempting farm lands. Here and there a short street 
strayed off, with small houses and farms occupymg 
their allotted spaces. But, generally, a modern rifle 
could reach the w'hole distance from the avenue, 
either side. Beyond, to the westward, lies the lovely 
Wissahickon, with its tiny waterfalls, its shallows and 
its deep, clear pools. Along its banks are stately 
trees, growing on hillsides and in valleys, giving the 
country an exquisite miniature resemblance to a 
mountain chain, all verdure-clad and beautiful. 
Thanks to the Fairmount Park Commission, a great 
part of this picture-beauty will remain unaltered. And 
it is well, for to-day the advance of improvements is 
approaching very close to its boundary. Within a few 
years the Pennsylvania Railroad emulated the Read- 
ing by building a road almost parallel, but as much 
to the west of Germantown Avenue as the other is to 
the right. Then came an innovation, and the aristoc- 
racy of the grand old city erected mansions, colonial 

207 



residences and beautiful castles, in which to live the 
whole year round, except when tours to Europe or 
some other distant place occupy the time. Philadelphia 
and her delig^htful suburbs, reachinec to the romantic 
banks of the Schuylkill and Wissahickon, and far up 
on the Reading and Bethlehem pikes, has become a 
most beautiful and noble city. 



A RECENT VISIT TO MONMOUTH COURT 
HOUSE, FREEHOLD, NEW JERSEY. 

General Howe's inactivity seemed at last to have 
tried the patience of the home government. From 
October to the middle of June, Philadelphia was occu- 
pied by the General and his staff, who evidently pre- 
ferred ease to active service. He was led to resign 
the command, and General Clinton was appointed in 
his place, with orders to proceed at once to New York. 
Washington with his troops followed, overtaking and 
outmarching the evacuating army at Monmouth Court 
House, in New Jersey, and making an attack with the 
evident hope of demoralizing this very important divi- 
sion of the British army. 

Washington had ordered General Charles Lee — 
whose defection had caused a disaster some time pre- 
viously — to advance and attack the enemy's line in the 
centre, while he himself would bring up the main 
army to his assistance immediately, while the wings 
were to try to force their way to Clinton's rear. 

20S 



By this means Washington hoped to hold the Brit- 
ish centre until his larger force was on hand to engage 
its wings. Instead of this, as he marched forward 
with well-prepared plans of battle, he met Lee in full 
retreat. Two signboards on the turnpike between 
Monmouth Court House and the old church on the 
hill, about three miles south of that point, in which 
Washington made his headquarters, can be seen to- 
day to mark the meeting-places. One marks the spot 
at which Washington and Lee met ; the other shows 
where the retreating division and the main army met, 
and the retreat checked by Washington. He repri- 
manded Lee, and again ordered an advance, and then 
followed this general engagement, one of the many 
severe battles of the Revolution. This retreat of Lee, 
however, gave General Clinton the time and vantage 
ground he so much needed at that moment. 

Lee took umbrage at the reproof administered by 
his commander-in-chief, and sent him two such disre- 
spectful communications, that the insufferable inso- 
lence, together with his disobedience of orders, led to 
his trial by court-martial. He was suspended from 
his division for one year, but he never returned to his 
command, and many years after his death, which oc- 
curred just before the close of the war, letters and 
papers were discovered which proved beyond a doubt 
that he was a traitor, whose purpose of betraying the 
Colonial army into the hands of the British was frus- 
trated by the stratagem and unswerving watchfulness of 

209 



General Washington, who, always attributed his own 
success to the assistance of an omnipotent Providence. 

The battle of Monmouth Court House was waged 
fiercely, and ended without decisive victory for either 
side. The British loss was about five hundred, the 
Americans lost many more ; but as the day was in- 
tensely hot, numbers died from heat exhaustion ; but 
many drank clear, cold water from " Mollie Pitcher's 
Well," and cooled their heated brows and slaked their 
great thirst therewith. 

This well is yet preserved, though it is now covered 
with a planking, and above it is a signboard bearing 
the name. The well is located close to the railroad 
track, where it runs parallel with the turnpike. Not far 
from it a sign points the direction the English took 
along the turnpike after the battle. 

This battle was fought on Sunday, June 28, 1778. 
It was carried on all day, and far into the night. The 
Colonial army laid upon its arms all night; Washing- 
ton and La Fayette reposed at the root of a tree, so as 
to be in readiness for a renewal of hostilities in the 
morning; but Clinton had taken advantage of the 
darkness to continue his march toward New York, 
thus emulating the actions of Washington at Trenton 
and Princeton. 

The country around Freehold — the county seat of 
Monmouth County, and the city which has sprung up 
near the battle-ground — is very beautiful, though the 
country is generally level, with slighth' rolling inclina- 

210 



tion as it lies toward the west. It is studded with 
fruitful farms and pasture lands, peacefully lovely 
under the late summer sunlight. A tall monument 
standing upon a slight eminence commemorates the 
battle and its site. 

I visited the old church before mentioned, in which 
Washington made his headquarters. It is beginning 
to show the ravages of time quite plainly, notwith- 
standing it is kept in good repair, and I walked through 
the burial ground, in which I noticed quaint old tomb- 
stones bearing dates of far more than one hundred and 
twenty years ago. I drank from the old court-house 
well at which Washington quenched his thirst, and I 
traversed the road along which the opposing armies 
marched. They are kept in good condition, and one 
can readily see the importance which both commanders 
attached to this apparently unimportant spot. Middle- 
town road leads almost direct to Amboy, at which 
place the British stores were deposited. 

Washington hoped to circumvent Clinton and get 
possession of the arms and provisions, if he did not 
succeed in overpowering the British, while Clinton 
evidently continued his march through the night so as 
to save them from capture. 

Though this engagement was not altogether victo- 
rious to the Americans, it was sufficiently creditable to 
be treasured in the memory of the nation and to be 
commemorated in monument and tablet. 



A RECENT VISIT TO LEXINGTON AND 
CONCORD, MASSACHUSETTS. 

Looking over the causes which led to the Revolu- 
tion, glancing over the wide area across which that 
war for independence was waged for years, each hal- 
lowed by the sacrifice of the noblest men the nation 
could boast, it is no wonder that the heart thrills with 
excessive patriotism when one stands upon the spots 
on which the first blood was shed for the liberty of 
millions. 

We all know how the Colonial leaders upheld the 
rights of the people ; how they protested against the 
yoke whose weight grew heavier the longer it was 
borne, and with unparalleled patience. When prepara- 
tions for war were made, still hoping for legal adjust- 
ment of the questions upon which the disagreement 
between the colonies and England was founded, the 
moving spirits of the Americans enjoined caution and 
a particular care to so act, no matter how great the 
provocation, that an entirely peaceable settlement 
could be made if England saw proper to remove the 
heavy taxations, permit the people to have rights con- 
sistent with their position as English subjects, and be 
allowed to have some share in preparing the laws 
under which they had to live. A strenuous injunc- 
tion was laid upon the Colonial militia to refrain from 
firing the first shot against the mother country. Some 



men grew impatient of the command, and they would 
fain have attacked the British soldiery, who were 
sometimes not above taunting the already outraged 
community. Preparing for war, yet willing to make 
peaceable settlement at any time, the patriots gathered 
to discuss the probable issue, while the poorly equip- 
ped militia drilled so as to be ready for an emergency 
which they felt confident was drawing very near. It 
came when General Gage was commissioned to march 
to Lexington, with eight hundred troops, to seize 
John Hancock and Samuel Adams, the leaders of the 
Colonists, and having taken them prisoners, to pro- 
ceed onward to Concord, and either capture or destroy 
the stores which the patriots had been preparing in 
case of need. 

Very quietly Gage proceeded to obey orders, but 
Dr. Joseph Warren, afterwards General Warren, of 
Revolutionary fame, had sent Paul Revere from Charles- 
town, and William Dawes from Roxbury, to give the 
alarm if the British advanced. Paul Revere crossed 
the Charles River in a small boat within sight of the 
British man-of-war " Somerset," and waited on the river 
bank until he received a pre-arranged signal. Anx- 
iously watching, at last Paul saw the signal, and in- 
stantly mounting his horse he started upon his ride, 
made immortal by its results, and by the verses in its 
commemoration written by Longfellow. 

Standing on the park lawn in Lexington, one can 
imagine the figure of Major Pitcairn, in his impetuosity, 



cursing the " rebels " and commanding them to "dis- 
perse," and the handful of hardy minute-men facing 
the irascible officer and his well-drilled arm}-. 

On the village green of Lexington, fifty of the brave 
New Englanders, under the command of Captain John 
Parker, faced the brilliant British troops, and answered 
the Major's order with stolid silence. His command 
to fire received no response on either side. Evidently 
his own soldiers were deeply impressed with the won- 
derful determination and bravery which inspired that 
handful of yeomen to face unflinchingly their disci- 
plined ranks. Whether that was the case or not, the 
sound of his own pistol accentuated his second order 
before his men responded with a murderous volley, 
which killed eight and wounded ten of those noble 
minute-men. Thus the first blood of the Re\-olution 
was spilled on April 19, 1775. 

The old North Bridge, near Concord, was the spot 
where the first Colonial resistance was made. It has 
been reconstructed as nearly as possible in the style of 
the one across which the minute-men turned and re- 
treated, when they were convinced by their leader that 
it was impossible to stand against the augmented 
forces which were approaching, and upon one side 
there is a monument of granite erected where the 
British stood, bearing the date of the battle and a 
commemorative inscription. 

Carved on the other side, there is a splendid 
statue of a minute-man, designed by a native sculptor, 

214 



Mr. D. C. French, whose powers in the dehneation of 
pose and expression are wonderfully life-like and 
beautiful. Two British soldiers were slain in this first 
contest, and they were buried Avhere they fell, and a 
stone in the wall near which they lie bears the inscrip- 
tion " Grave of British Soldiers." A monument to the 
faithful New England soldiers of the Civil War was 
erected on the Common, at Concord, on April 19, 
1867. So within a few miles of each other stand 
monuments of the two great events of American his- 
tory. 

While in Lexington, I visited the old Monroe Tavern, 
at the east end of the town, which General Percy, the 
commander of the British army, used as a hospital 
on the day of the battle of Lexington. There is an 
old chair in the bar-room, in which General Washing- 
ton sat, and it and a bullet-hole in the ceiling are 
pointed out to visitors. It was a Masonic Lodge Hall 
also for a long while. I drove up Highland Avenue 
and obtained a fine view of the historic neighborhood. 
New houses are being erected, and many splendid 
residences and beautiful lawns are visible through the 
rolling country. 

Looking across the battle-ground in Lexington, I 
found it marked an imperfect parallelogram, in the 
northwestern corner the monument to the minute- 
men, in the centre the Liberty pole, two cannons, one 
pointing southeast, the other almost due east, and 
several beautiful churches are built around this public 

2^5 



square, with fine modern residences close to this cen- 
tral open park of the town. The old monument, where 
those eight that fell in that first attack are buried at 
the southwest end, is covered with ivy, while there are 
low growing plants at the base. Many of the present 
residents point with pride to their ancestral memorial of 
the first stroke for freedom I saw the old house in 
which Hancock and Adams were stopping when they 
were compelled to go still further, though they would 
much have preferred to stand their ground. But Doc- 
tor Warren was particularly anxious that their lives 
should not be sacrificed, and his persuasion prevailed. 
I drove along the Medford Road, over which Paul 
Revere rode with such anxious haste. 

On the road near Medford. beyond Arlington, there 
is an old magazine, located on a slight elevation, which 
is preserved with great care. I was informed 'that it 
was used by the Americans, while Boston was held by 
the British in 1775. 

The country all about Lexington, Concord and 
Cambridge is not only beautiful, and dear to the hearts 
of the people from its historic prominence, but from 
its natural loveliness and itswealth in literary and artis- 
tic culture. Here Hawthorne lived and wrote, and 
Thoreau wandered, dreamed and studied Nature in her 
purest haunts; here the Alcotts won for themselves 
the love and immortal re\^erence of their appreciative 
neighbors and of the whole country. At Cambridge 
is situated the old Harvard University, one of the mo'^st 



216 



renowned colleges in the world, honored by its 
having graduated a host of the ablest literary men of 
the country, noticeable among whom are Longfellow, 
Holmes and many others. Here General Washing- 
ton — beloved more and more as the years roll on — 
took command of the American army, trusting not in 
his own strength for the power to lead his downtrod- 
den countrymen to liberty. Almost within the sound 
of cannon the battles of Lexington, of Bunker Hill, 
of Charlestown and of Boston were fought. 

To this day there are men who glow with pride as 
they tell of the defense of Breed's Hill, erected in one 
night by the i,ooo men who made the mistake of pre- 
paring that instead of Bunker Hill, as a fortification to 
hold against the British and prevent their advance. 
The defense between the hills was made of hay and 
straw packed tightly between two fences. The story 
of the battle of Bunker Hill, as it is always called, is 
known to every school-boy, and the monument erected 
upon Breed's Hill has been pictured until all are fa- 
miliar with its contour. But until one stands upon 
the battle-ground and recalls that soul stirring history, 
until he gazes upon the old monument and reads its 
inscription, he can never know the full appreciation of 
the thousands of sacrifices that were required to seal 
the cause of true Liberty and Union. Limited as my 
time was, I visited every point of Revolutionary in- 
terest in and around these sacred grounds, and it 
would require a much larger space than the pages 

217 



of this little book allow, to gi\'e them even cursory 
mention. 

I took a ride down the bay to Hull, whose very 
prominent position between Boston Bay and the At- 
lantic made it very important. I found earthworks in 
three places extending out from the southern point 
forming the outer portion of Boston Harbor, opposite 
the Boston Lighthouse. I visited the large fort on 
Telegraph Hill, so called, I am told, because it has 
upon it a telegraph station, from which signals an- 
nounce the approach of vessels on the coast. 1 took 
a view from an old fortification, which is somewhat 
octagonal in conformation, and far down the south side 
of the hill I noted the remains of a very old earthwork 
or fortification. The angles of the main fort, looking in 
every direction, afforded me a most enchanting view 
of the surrounding country, the bay, the quiet harbor 
and the boisterous ocean. I spent several hours ex- 
amining the formation of the forts and observing the 
points of interest in every direction. 

Passing down the north side of the hill towards 
Boston Light and Brewster Islands, I crossed some 
old stone fences that seemed as if they had been 
erected for defensive purposes. Turning northward, 
up a valley which is cut in towards the harbor close by, 
and up a hill overlooking the electric railway which 
runs from Nantasket to Hull, I noted three sections of 
earthworks on the brow of this precipitous hill, which 
are being worn away gradually by the winds and storms 



of the gliding ages, until only three cone-shaped ele- 
vations, about ten feet in height, remain to mark the 
spot. Leaving this point I skirted the crest of the 
cliff to another earthwork near to the town of Hull, 
which evidently commanded that point toward the 
north. These remains of breastworks are not nearly 
so extensive as those on Telegraph Hill, though the 
star-like formation, with the projections for planting 
cannons, are quite distinctly marked. 

Except as Revolutionary landmarks held by Amer- 
ican patriots, these points are not of special interest, 
but to me they are very attractive, and searching 
around I found several relics which had been over- 
looked or disregarded by former visitors. On Tele- 
graph Hill I saw some triangulation stones, placed 
there by the Government, the formation of the coast 
requiring survey by triangulation. 

I feasted my eyes with the charming outlook from 
my lofty point of observation, from which I could 
look down upon the tiny city, the fair country and 
the beautiful harbor, in and out of which the vessels 
were passing with sails, some weather-stained and 
brown, others white as sea-gull wings, spread to catch 
the pure salt air. 

I longed for the genius of an artist that I might 
reproduce the glorious view ; the long sweep of ocean, 
the curving coast, the solid lighthouse with its promi- 
nent white tower, the ships in the harbor, the few 
islands dotting the wide sweep of the bay as it spreads 

219 



out after curving in around the peculiar points of land 
upon one of which Hull is located, and the forts up 
the bay. All spread beneath my gaze, and I turned 
from it very regretfull}\ 

I reached Hull in time to see it in its summer dress 
after a thunder shower. The air was pure and invig- 
orating, and I started upon my Revolutionary tour 
within its neighborhood with keen pleasure. Boston, 
Lynn, Swampscott, Marblehead and Thatcher Lights 
and the distant coast line stretching far to the north 
and south ; Boston Light, Brewster Islands and the 
few independent rocks in the bay at its entrance; Hull 
Beach and Nantasket winding around as if to protect 
the harbor. Altogether the scene was exquisite, and 
I drank in its beauty while I thought of the patriots 
who built and manned the numerous fortications fast 
passing away. Boston is so well known that I need 
only say that I left no spot of historic interest un- 
visited, and I came away more thoroughly convinced 
of the bravery and single-minded patriotism of the old 
Puritan yeomen, who laid aside all prejudice, all per- 
sonality, to take up arms in the common cause which 
made the thirteen colonies one, notwithstanding the 
wide disparity in their natural environments, their 
occupations and their various national ancestry. 

As I write, my memory reaches out through the 
long vista of departing time and lingers with a thrill 
of deepest feeling upon the more prominent spots 
upon which I have trod while tracing the histor\' of 

220 



my beloved country. From old, time-worn forts, 
whose walls once swarmed with the first defenders of 
the country, made theirs by adoption if not by birth, 
I come to forts yet well marked by the shot and shell 
and bayonet thrusts of the late war. Monuments 
meet me on every hand, and yet many more would be 
required to mark even the half that has been done to 
bring the Union to its present pre-eminent position, its 
breadth of territory, its prosperity and peace ! 

On lofty points on either coast I have watched the 
massive ships of commerce, the sailing vessels and 
the smaller craft which carry the grand old flag from 
land to land, from point to point, and from city to city 
on our own long line of sea-coast. I have seen the 
calm blue sky bending in holy benison above the bays 
and gulfs that sweep in from the mighty oceans on 
either side of the broad Republic. I have tried to hold 
in my mind's eyes the exquisite beauty of mountain, 
hill and valley, and I have even heard the roar of 
battle and bent above the wounded and dying of those 
who fought to keep the Union intact ; I have stood 
within old forts of long ago until I could almost 
imagine that I heard the echoes of the cannon and 
the rattle of the shot that made that Union a land of 
liberty ; and the conclusion always manifests itself 
that it was well worth the sacrifice ! That if those 
very days could ever be recalled we should again 
demand our rights, uphold our principles and fight 
for freedom ! We would uplift our Washington, we 



would face the common enemy and establish our Re- 
public as it is. Yes, we would again j^uichase Free- 
dom as did the lives of our sturdy forefathers, and we 
would hallow the re-established Union with the price- 
less blood of hundreds of thousands of our noblest 
citizens. 

Those battles, all fought so long ago, live forever in 
the grand accomplishment of their purpose ; but year 
by year their fiery flash and awful din grow more and 
more faint, until only the echoes remain to remind us 
of aught but the glory which they won. By and by 
they will be but a cherished memory except for the 
monuments, which will for ages speak to those who 
will, we most earnestly hope, never see the smoke of 
warring cannon, nor even hear the dreadful echoes 
from afar. 



Kf FINIS Ji^ 



